Fire and Water
by FireOpal
Summary: Secrets are revealed, lineages come forth, transformations take place, and magic abounds while outside, a war rages. Hey, it’s just another year at Hogwarts, home of magic and mystery… RLSB, RWHG, poss. HPDM.
1. Strange Letters

**Disclaimer:-** As usual, this is most definitely not mine, except the plot. The plot is mine, all mine! Mwuhahahaha…! ahem I also own some of the creatures, in fact, basically, anything you recognise is not mine, but otherwise it's mine. And I'm proud of it! 

**Summary:- **Secrets are revealed, lineages come forth, transformations take place, and magic abounds while outside, a war rages. Hey, it's just another year at Hogwarts, home of magic and mystery… RLSB, RWHG, poss. HPDM.

**Warnings:- **Maybe in future chapters, but so far the worst you guys'll have to put up with is Voldemort's Visions and possible abuse. Warnings will be placed as and when.

**FireOpal's Comments:- **Finally this is ready to start posting! I have slaved over this ever since the plotbunny bit me (it really hurt, damned things!). Um, this one is a teensy bit longer per chapter than 'Shadow's Call', so don't expect miracles on the posting front (I am really sorry about this, I promise I'll get organised some day!). However, I do have all of this planned, so writing'll be smoother I hope. Now, read and enjoy and don't forget to send me your thoughts!

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Fire and Water. A Harry Potter Fan Fiction by FireOpal.**

**Chapter 1.  
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Our story starts on a day like any other at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – strange plants pulsated gently in the greenhouses, shining fluorescent in the dark; man-eating creatures loped happily around a field of hurriedly scattering school children as a half-giant tried to tame them; a short gnome-like wizard was standing on a heap of books teaching first years how to levitate feathers (and accidentally transforming his desk into a large, fluffy bunny rabbit); and a greasy haired, hook nosed, dark eyed man was stood, scowling as he surveyed the work of one Harry James Potter. The man, of course, was Severus Snape.

"Once again, Potter," he spat hatefully, an evil smirk on his features, "you have managed to make a complete mess of today's assignment. Perhaps your time would be better spent studying than playing foolhardy and dangerous games? Though, with your track record, it would be in vain. I do so wonder how on earth you passed your OWL Potions, when you hand this," he lifted the ladle from the cauldron, and spilled the thick, soupy mixture back into the simmering liquid, "in every lesson. Twenty points from Gryffindor, and an eighteen inch essay on precisely what went wrong."

Harry glowered at his teacher, his emerald eyes narrowed as he quickly poured the required amount of potion into his flask, giving it to Hermione to hand in. The bushy-haired girl gave him a sympathetic look, before taking their flasks to the front. Luckily, Snape was now berating a poor Ravenclaw over his shoddy cutting skills, and he didn't notice. Last time she had helped out Harry, they had had fifty points from Gryffindor and detention 'in case she had used her own potion for his mark by accident'.

About five minutes before the bell was due to go, there was a knock on the door. Most of the class found their attention drawn immediately – after all, who would dare enter Snape's class? When Snape barked at whomever it was to enter, they did so, and the door opened creakily to reveal Professor McGonagall.

As Harry and Hermione shared a worried look, everyone else started whispering at the new arrival.

"Silence!" snarled the Potions Master, before turning back to his colleague. "Was there a problem, Minerva?" Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, and answered from the door.

"Professor Dumbledore has asked for your presence, Severus." A startled look passed over his black eyes so fast no one saw it, before he rose stiffly.

"I'm sure the Headmaster will understand that I am teaching a class. Inform him I will be along shortly."

"Now, Severus. He was most insistent. It will not hurt you to let this class go early for once." Her sharp eyes passed over the class, pausing briefly on Harrys' face, her expression unreadable. "He wants to see you too, Potter." She said to him, and all eyes snapped onto the teen as his eyes widened slightly, and he cast a glance at Hermione, who shrugged slightly.

"Very well." Said Snape annoyed, and he turned to Harry with an icy glare. "Come, Potter."

Shouldering his bag, he followed the snarky black robed man as he swept out of the room, ignoring the stares they received. He had to jog to keep up with the older man's long strides (which he felt was at least partially the reason why the man did it – making him look daft), but when they reached the gargoyle that led to Professor Dumbledore's office, he smirked evilly at the panting Harry, muttering the password – Sherbet Shooting Stars.

Professor Dumbledore's office looked the same as ever, with silvery trinkets (a few less than last year, Harry thought guiltily) and the magnificent phoenix, Fawkes. The man himself was stood at the window overlooking the grounds, his back to them. When he turned, his eyes contained a mysterious sparkle that Harry couldn't help but feel suspicious about, and his lips were smiling as he offered them tea and a sherbet lemon. He asked them to sit, and popped a yellow candy in his mouth, reaching for three matching envelopes on his desk, and drawing them close. Finally, impatient and annoyed at having his lesson interrupted, Snape spoke.

"Albus, not that I don't sincerely enjoy this chance for a chat," his voice dripped sarcasm like treacle "I was interrupted in a very valuable and potentially dangerous Sixth Year Potions lesson by Minerva, who insisted I come here, Potter too. If I may ask, why?"

"I apologise my dear boy, I hadn't realised the Doxy Anti Venom Potion was so 'valuable and potentially dangerous'. I had always thought of it as rather a harmless potion, especially to trained sixth years." He said mildly, looking over his glasses at Snape. Harry stifled a grin. If Doxy Anti Venom Potion was 'valuable and potentially dangerous', then he was Snape's biological son. "How are you, Harry?"

"Fine, sir." Harry said, smiling slightly. The old man nodded, and turned his attention once again to the letters.

"I was quite amazed this morning to see Fawkes return from his recent sojourn, with these in his claws." Albus said, all businesslike. "I was further surprised to find that they were addressed to myself, you, Severus, and you, Harry. I have already read the one addressed to myself, and Fawkes seemed in rather a hurry for you to receive yours, and so I had to interrupt your lesson." He handed the two letters to Harry and Snape, the older mans' eyes narrowing and his gaze flitting up as he recognised the neat handwriting. Albus returned his gaze levelly, and he swept out without being given permission to leave.

"You may go too, Harry. I dare say you are in rather a hurry to return to your lessons. What do you have next?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts." Replied Harry with a lopsided grin, tucking the envelope into his bag. Albus smiled at him.

"Ah, and how are you getting on with Professor Turner?" he asked calmly, taking a sip from his cup of tea.

"Oh, quite well sir." He smirked inwardly. Professor Turner was downright terrified of him, half-scared he was under the thrall of Voldemort (a result of last years' _Daily Prophet _reports) and half-scared of his success in class. In fact, it was clear to most, if not all of the Sixth Years that Harry could easily teach the class better than the short spindly woman. Whilst not full of the Ministerial spite of Umbridge, the insanity of Crouch/Moody, the big-headedness of Lockhart and the sheer Voldemort-possessedness of Quirrel, she was still a pretty poor teacher, leaving Harry to resume the DA to ensure at least some defence was being taught.

"We're studying Dark Detectors at the moment, and I think it rather upsets her when it goes off in class." Albus raised an eyebrow almost playfully, and Harry elaborated. "Well, it appears that my link to Voldemort has a quite adverse affect of many of the Detectors, and they go off randomly in the middle of the lesson. Sometimes I'm no where near them when they go off."

"Most odd." Said Dumbledore, smiling slightly, his eyes twinkling. "And now you must go, I wouldn't want to keep you waiting."

"Yes sir." Harry stood and slung his bag over his shoulder as he turned to the door and left.

Ron and Hermione stood at the bottom of the staircase, arguing again as he walked down and he watched them for a second with a small wry grin on his face before they noticed.

"He _is_ a snarky bastard! He may be a teacher, but I can call him whatever I want! Besides, teachers are supposed to be fair, and if you call taking twenty points off of Gryffindor for looking at him the wrong way, then, then –"

"I'm not saying it's fair, Ron! I was just saying that calling him what you called him is uncalled for!" Hermione cut in quickly as he floundered. At that minute, Ron looked up and spied Harry.

"Harry! Is everything ok?" Hermione looked up and he grinned at them both, walking down the remaining stairs quickly.

"Yeah, fine." They walked off to class quickly, Hermione urging them on as she checked her watch. As they slid into desks at the back of the classroom, Professor Turner eyeing them nervously, as if wondering whether or not to raise the matter, Ron muttered under his breath to Harry.

"So what was the meeting about?"

"Tell you later." He whispered back as Hermione took pity on the professor and raised her hand.

"Er, yes, Miss Granger?"

"I just wanted to apologise for being late, Professor. We were waiting for Harry, while he was talking to Professor Dumbledore." Professor Turner nodded. Harry sniggered. Even if they'd told her they'd been sitting in the Owlery taking muggle drugs, drinking absinthe and planning to skip the lesson, she would answer the same way. Sure enough…

"Thank you, Miss Granger. Now –" she was cut off again as the large matt silver instrument behind her trembled and spun, emitting a loud siren noise. It was mushroom-shaped, with tiny little grooves along the lid – an Adversary Locator, Harry recognised from the DA class he had taught on Dark Detectors; crude, inefficient and loud, Aurors and sensible people loathed them, the Ministry loved them.

The class watched as she turned, annoyed to turn off the alarm. Just as she looked at it, it stopped. It lay dormant, not moving, and if it had had eyes, its expression would've been one of complete and utter innocence. Turning back to the class, she sat on the edge of her desk, her booted legs dangling in the air. The whole picture looked ridiculous, Harry reflected for a second. He wasn't exactly a connoisseur of female dress, but this was wrong. Paper white face, bright red lipstick, black eyeliner around her mud brown eyes (she looked a little like a panda), a long black suede skirt, floppy knee-high boots and a red top that would look rather pretty on anyone with the right structure.

"Now, today we –" she was cut off again as the detector went off again, whirring around very fast and whining loudly. She nearly fell off the table in her surprise, but quickly controlled herself and turned to the device, which suddenly fell dormant. A few of the class were starting to smirk by now, realising what was going on and not saying a word. In the past few lessons the sudden animation of detectors in one way or another (it was quite a memorable lesson the day one of them had actually spat fire at them all) had given them a lot of entertainment, so they just watched and waited.

The detector had resumed its innocent expression, so she just turned her back on it again.

"Today we are studying the Adversary Locator. Get out your quills and write that down, you're going to be writing notes on it this lesson." Barely anybody actually bothered to get out their quills and parchment, and those who did where probably getting out their homework from another lesson, or doodling as Harry could see one person was doing. When he craned his head curiously, he saw it was a rather detailed and beautiful sketch of a bird in flight, the clear lines making it almost jump off of the page. Unfortunately, he couldn't see who had drawn it, and his attention was once again brought to Professor Turner as she belatedly instructed them to get out their textbooks.

"The Adversary Locator is –" The detector went off again, almost as if the mere act of saying its name had caused it to go off. She turned back to it, and it settled innocently, as if to say 'Noise? What noise? I didn't make any noise.' Her thickly painted lips were pursed together in a comic attempt at the 'McGonagle Look'. She glanced around the room, but, unable to find the source, she resumed her lesson.

"The Adversary Locator is –" With the timing of a champion, the alarm went off again. Even Hermione was smiling now, her hand covering her mouth and a faintly guilty look. Ron was grinning and giggling sporadically despite trying to do his Charms homework, and Harry was openly smirking, leaning back on his chair, his hands behind his head and his feet on the table – the picture of casualness. The alarm quickly stopped without her turning this time, and half the class was sitting in anticipation of when it would go off next.

"The Adversary Locator is –" The device whined into life, then died quickly.

"The Adversary Locator –"

"The Adversary –"

"The –" The entire class was openly laughing now, and a random parchment aeroplane flew rings around the classroom, guided by a hidden wand Ron had under his desk. Hermione had given up trying to take notes and, to Harrys' surprise was actually charming a piece of parchment on her desk into the shape of a frog, which jumped around the room, croaking loudly. A few seconds later, a paper-fly joined it, buzzing around almost life-like and darting to and fro.

Next to join it, taking life from a snapped quill on the edge of Harrys desk, was a lopsided squirrel, the feathers moving to form its tail. It scurried along their desk and performed a flying leap onto Parvarti's desk at the far end of the room, where she and Lavender spent the next few minutes cooing over it. He was sure Hermione's new paper-animal menagerie would've been extensive if that hadn't been the moment that Professor Sprout entered, obviously wondering why it was so noisy in this classroom. All activity ceased immediately, and the room fell silent, even the detector.

"What _is_ going on in here?" she exclaimed, glancing wide eyes over the messy classroom, where students still stood frozen in position, some sat on tables, others with wands and quills in their hands played with pieces of parchment, most sitting in the act of chatting with their mates. Justin Finch-Fletchley was even asleep, snoring lightly with his head resting on a plump pillow he had transfigured earlier in the lesson from a Bertie Botts sweet wrapper. It wasn't a very good transfiguration – the pillowcase was bright blue and read 'Bertie Botts Waltzing Walnuts' in large yellow letters, but Professor Sprout immediately pulled out her wand and reversed the spell, causing Justins' head to hit the desk with a thunk!

"Ah, Professor Sprout." Said Professor Turner, a sickly smile appearing on her lips. "How can I help you?"

"I was just wondering why there was so much noise coming from this classroom, Rachelle. It was disturbing me in the staff room."

"It's quite alright, Professor. I have everything under control." Sprout's eyes narrowed dubiously as she spotted Seamus, sitting, flicking through a magazine with magical headphones pumping music through his ears. Dean, sitting next to him, saw Sprout first, and prodded him quickly. Seamus meekly removed the headphones and wilted under her glare, his eyes on the table.

"Well, then, I shall leave you to your lesson. Sorry for having disturbed you, Rachelle."

"It's quite alright." Professor Turner simpered as the dumpy Herbology teacher left. As soon as the door closed, the noise and activity resumed, Seamus slipped his headphones back on and turned a page, and Hermione thoughtfully conjured a soft, fluffy red pillow for Justin, floated it across the room, and, lifting his head gently with another spell, slipped it under. He slept on, burrowing his head into the soft material, sending a small smile onto Hermione's face, and a scowl onto Ron's as he caught this exchange.

Turning suddenly, Ron's aeroplane, which had, meanwhile, landed on top of the blackboard, took flight again, heading straight for Justins' desk. It had a much more purposeful look about it now, and quickly dived to hit the top of the sandy-haired boys' head, blowing apart in a shower of parchment as it hit skin. Unfortunately, this did not have the desired effect for Ron, as Justin, woken by the action, looked down, saw the pillow, and grinned at Hermione across the room. She grinned back, blushing slightly, and turned her attention onto her next animal – a salamander.

Harry hid a smirk as he saw the tops of Rons' ears flush red, and lounged back in his chair, catching sight of the sketch of the bird again. It was finished now, the wings delicately detailed, its single eye staring out beadily and its beak almost shining. It was so lifelike as to be unreal, but Harry still couldn't see who the mysterious sketcher was. Half tempted to fly a note over there, his attention was drawn back to the lesson as he realised Professor Turner was actually talking. Time to remedy that.

With a sudden burst of noise, the alarm went off again, and this time, when the annoyed Professor turned, it kept going, almost falling off the desk in its enthusiasm. After several minutes of careful and not so careful tinkering, the detector was still spinning and emitting its siren noise, so she gave up and turned her back on it. It immediately stopped. She stood, her arms folded, waiting.

It whined once, almost questioningly, then stopped, and still she didn't turn. It whined again, louder, with a certain quality that seemed to suggest pictures of pathetic little animals. Still, she didn't so much as start. When it next whined, it seemed almost subdued, and she whirled around, clasping her fingers over it. It stopped.

"Right," she said. "Homework – I want all of you to write four feet on Adversary Locators, their uses and history. That's for tomorrow, sixth years –" Everyone groaned, and Hermione started whispering furiously about how she needed at least a week to find all the relevant information and data.

"Stupid cow." She spat.

"Tut tut, Hermione." Harry said with an easy grin. "Isn't that a little uncalled for?" She flushed, but snapped hotly.

"No, it isn't. She's worse than that idiot Umbridge." Harrys' expression set, and all traces of a grin disappeared from his face.

"No she isn't. At least Turner doesn't cut into our hands." Hermione looked up, a guilty expression on her face.

"Oh, sorry Harry, I forgot. I'm so sorry." She blurted as Harry rubbed at the thin scars on his hand. At that second, the device flared into life, louder than ever before, causing most to clap their hands over their ears. Professor Turner gave up at this point, and fled the classroom. As soon as the door was shut, the noise stopped, and Harry relaxed. As the class leisurely packed away their stuff, Ron turned to Harry with a wide grin.

"Good one Harry! That bit where she couldn't get a word in edgeways was pure genius! What's the score now?"

"Twenty-seven nil to us." Harry said, copying his grin and giving his best friend a high-five. Hermione shook her head with a grin.

"Twenty-eight." She said calmly, summoning her zoo of animals from across the classroom and lovingly packing them into a separate container. A half-finished rhinoceros on her desk was added as well, blinking its sole beady eye at her before she closed the lid.

"Twenty-eight? Were did we get the extra one?" Hermione shouldered her bag and stood up, Harry and Ron joining her.

"You forgot last lesson, where you were making it sing pop songs. That makes it twenty-eight. Honestly, you could be damaging rare and valuable equipment!"

"Yeah, who cares?" Harry said casually. "Any ideas on what I do next lesson? I was thinking maybe something to do with it spontaneously turning into a pot of Petunias. What do you think?"

"Hmmm," said Hermione thoughtfully, giving up on school rules in the face of adversity. "Making you could trial different types of potted plant…"

A solitary figure watched as they walked down the corridor to lunch, laughing and joking, Hermione reaching across to swipe Ron's shoulder as he mentioned Justin and the Pillow. His keen eyes were thoughtful and sad, but he turned away from them and went down another corridor. He wasn't ready.

It was chaos in the staff room that lunchtime.

"She had no control of the class whatsoever!"

"-could hear the noise all the way down in my Arithmancy classroom!"

"It was destroying the tenuous atmosphere in my tower, my aura was severely-"

"-students come out of her lessons like pixies!"

"Disgraceful, absolutely disgraceful!"

"Professors, please, let us have some order!" called Professor Dumbledore through the din, his hands held out calmly. Gradually, the hubbub quieted down, and he could speak. All of the teachers, with the exception of Professor Turner and Professor Sinistra who had stayed to make sure the school stayed in some semblance of order (the Astrology Professor had sent her apologies and own complaints to the meeting), where gathered in the staff room, some standing, most sitting.

"Now, can you please remain calm as we discuss this. Pomola, I believe it was you who called this emergency staff meeting, would you care to go first?"

"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore." Professor Sprout stood and looked across at her colleagues. Even Snape and Trelawney were here, the former standing in the back corner of the room like some sort of scowling shadow, a mass of greasy hair masking his features. The dozy Divination professor was perched on a spindly wooden chair, smelling strongly of incense. "Now," she started, clasping her hands together worriedly. "I'm not normally one to criticise a co-worker, but in this case I feel I really must insist.

I was sat in here just before lunch, marking some of my third years' essays on the properties of hellebore, when I heard the most almighty racket. I went to go and investigate, and what did I find in her classroom but a gang of sixth years acting like hooligans! There was paper all over the floor, some were even asleep, and when I ask her if she needs a hand, she dismisses me as easy as you please! It has to stop!"

There were shouts and murmurs of agreement at this, and Professor Sprout sat down, her face flushed.

"Perhaps it is the students themselves, as opposed to their teacher." Snape said silkily, drawing everyone's attention. "After all, it is well known that Potter and his gang are in that class, and I wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't the leader in this."

"Mr Potter knows better than to do anything of the sort!" Professor McGonagle cut in furiously, her eyes narrowed. "Myself, I find it strange that whenever something is mentioned going wrong in this school, you raise his name."

"Strange? Hardly. In case you hadn't noticed, Minerva, it almost certainly is his fault every time something goes wrong. First year, we were all led on a wild goose chase after him and his little friends, second year, the same, third year I myself am put in danger by Potter gallivanting around without any thought of danger. Fourth year –"

"This stops now." Dumbledore said sharply, giving Snape a hard look. The Slytherin bit his tongue obediently, but looked smugly around, having made his point. "I too doubt that Mr Potter has played in any part of this, no more than any other at least. I believe the topic of this meeting was Professor Turner?"

"Professor, I must insist you remove that woman! She is entirely disturbing the powerful clairvoyant energies in my class by causing such a racket! One's Inner Eye needs peace and tranquillity to gaze into the depths of the future, and I cannot teach and train my young Seers whilst that is going on!" Professor Trelawney was white, with tiny spots of red on her cheeks. It was to many quite a shock to see the normally dozy teacher actually get worked up about something, and she was actually receiving a lot of attention. Even Professor McGonagle was faintly interested, but that may be more due to the subject matter than the messenger.

"Enough." Said Professor Dumbledore gravely, getting to his feet. "I will talk to Professor Turner if you are adamant about this, but I beg of you, please remain calm. She may just be getting used to the idea of having thirty other people in the same room that she has to keep control of. It could just be a bad start."

"Albus, she cannot teach!" Minerva said impatiently. Professor Dumbledore shot her a look.

"I believe it is time for us to be getting to lunch. Professor Sinistra may require some assistance in the Great Hall, and I myself am looking forward to a spot of lunch. Coming, Minerva?" he asked the woman calmly as she regained control of her temper. She nodded, her lips still pursed, and swept out of the staff room behind the venerable headmaster.

Later that evening, Harry, Ron and Hermione sat in the library, poring over textbooks and reams of rolls of parchment, doing their homework. Hermione was scribbling away, a slight frown on her face as she quickly read, thought, and wrote, Ron was writing lazily occasionally, pausing now and then to question Hermione on something or other. Harry was sitting with a blank sheaf of parchment in front of him, his quill tapping his lip as he wondered whether or not to actually do the homework. She never checked anyway, especially not him – famous wizard and all (not that he liked it) – and he had a really bad headache. With a sudden sick feeling, he leapt up and looked at his watch.

"Shit!" he swore, getting a hard look from the stern librarian. He quickly swept his books and parchment into his bag, hastily screwed the lid on his pot of ink and threw that in too, quickly followed by an assortment of other items.

"What?" said Ron, looking up.

"Occlumency! I'm going to be late!" Harry whispered fiercely, shouldering his bag and getting up from his chair.

"Oh great, run mate. Snape's not in a good mood, apparently, the fifth years accidentally blew up his lab again earlier." Ron said, his face sympathetic.

"Good luck Harry!" whispered Hermione as he ran out, giving him thumbs up. He waved at them as he dashed out the door, narrowly missing a first year, who squeaked and fell into a bookshelf.

He was panting by the time he reached the dungeons, his tie askew, his face flushed and his hair in his eyes. 'Really, people ought to look where they're going' he fumed as he rubbed a spot on his arm where he had hit the wall dodging a band of giggling seventh year girls. After waiting a few seconds to get his breath back, he knocked, the sound echoing slightly down the empty stone corridor.

"Enter!" a harsh voice snapped from inside, and he did so, opening the door cautiously. Snape was sitting at his desk as usual, a sheaf of parchment scattered across the surface as he marked, red ink curling across them all like shining blood.

'Don't think about blood.' Harry told himself as he stepped inside. Lately, he had found that if he tried to not think of anything Voldemort/torture/vision related, he was less likely to get yelled at by an irate Professor. Muggles were fine, all would happen if he saw one of the many painful memories of Harrys' childhood was that he would sneer and patronise, and he could live with that.

"Hurry up, I haven't got all night!" Snape grated out, piling up the unmarked papers on a spare bit of desk, laying down his quill, and standing.

"Yes sir." Harry replied as politely as possible. After last year's incident, Harry had returned to Hogwarts steadfast that he would do anything and everything to stop the snake-faced bastard that had ruined his, and other countless lives. That, unfortunately, had included apologising and pleading with his least favourite Professor for Occlumency lessons. After all, what was the point in being able to defend yourself if your attacker could read your every move?

He dropped his satchel near to the door and drew his wand, moving to stand in the centre of the room, Snape moving to stand in front of him.

"Let's see if you can't do any better than last week's appalling attempt." He sneered, drawing his wand and pointing it nastily at Harry. Harry braced himself and tried to forget any thoughts of Vol- you know what out of his head, even as Snape called out.

"_Legillimens_!" Immediately, he knew he had failed. Images and fluttering memories passed along his eyelids as he tried vainly to resist. Golly, Snape really knew how to hit him hard, he thought, gritting his teeth as he relived his worst memories…

_…"Lily, take Harry and go! It's Him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off –"_

_The sounds of someone stumbling from a room – a door bursting open – a cackle of high-pitched laughter…_

…"_Not Harry! Not Harry! Please – I'll do anything –"_

"_Stand aside – stand aside, girl –"…_

…"_Come on, you can do better than that!" he yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room._

_The second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest._

_The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock._

_Harry released Neville, though he was unaware of doing so. He was jumping down the steps again, pulling out his wand, as Dumbledore, too, turned towards the dais._

_It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall: his body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backwards through the ragged veil hanging from the arch._

_Harry saw a look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather's wasted, once-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind, then fell back into place…_

Harry emerged from his memories sweating and panting as though he had run a marathon. He was on his knees, his head bowed from person he hated most (bar Voldemort, Bellatrix and Pettigrew). He could feel the tears on his face mingling with his sweat as he tried to regain his breath and control, before standing weakly.

"Not good enough, you handed them to me on a plate!" Snape snapped at the student as he lifted the spell, ignoring his own thoughts on the memory of Lily's voice. "How can you expect to win against the Dark Lord if you are handing your thoughts to him, weapons he can use against you!"

Harry gritted his teeth and brushed the sweaty hair out of his eyes, forcing down his anger. 'Deep breaths, that's it,' he thought to himself as he attempted to clear his mind, before he was attacked again…

_... He was in the graveyard. A cold wind blew through his hair as he glanced round fearfully._

_"Kill the spare." hissed a voice all too familiar to him. Chest constricting in fear, Harry realised to his horror he couldn't move. He was stuck._

_"Avada Kedavra." another voice called. There was a flash of green light, and all of a sudden Harry could move. He twisted just in time to see the spell burrow into Cedric's body, his face pale, his eyes widening and rolling into his head. He was dead. Dead, and it was all Harry's fault ..._

"Are you truly incompetent?" Snape sneered as he pulled his mind out of the younger mans'. 'Are you?' Harry thought fiercely in response, biting his tongue hard to keep from retorting. 'Can't you see this is getting nowhere?' He was on his knees again, and stood quickly, nearly staggering back in exhaustion. Blimey, that headache was getting worse.

Snape eyed his student distastefully. The idiot wasn't even trying, that much was obvious. If it wasn't for Albus having intervened, he would've ignored him when he had come to apologise. He had endangered the entire Order and the Ministry, heck, the Wizarding world again only last year, and it was only his own fault that he got his mutt of a godfather killed. If he had done what he was told…

"Again?" he asked sarcastically as Harry blinked to clear his thoughts. The younger mans' face set, and he nodded.

"_Legillimens_!" he yelled, immediately beset by another myriad of images. Not even a smidgeon of a barrier…

…"_Get him, dearie. Get that nasty boy for knocking over your bowl. Then Mummie will get you some more, won't she, diddums?" Aunt Marge called out to her large, slavering bulldog. Harry, five years old, was sitting, trembling in a tree in the back garden of 4 Privet Drive, desperately trying to get away from the dog, which barked and scratched up the tree at him._

"_I'm sorry Aunt Marge, please, I'll come and clean it up for you. I'm sorry." The increasingly nervous boy called as the dog narrowly missed his elbow._

"_Oh no, you little brat. You're staying there all night!" the large woman yelled, before turning to her dog. "Keep an eye on him, diddums. You can't trust that boy as far as you can throw him!" …_

… "_See what I have become?" the face said. "Mere shadow and vapour… I have form only when I can share another's body… but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds… Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks… you saw faithful Quirrel drinking it for me in the Forest… and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own… Now… why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket?"_

_So he knew. The feeling suddenly surged back into Harry's legs. He stumbled backwards._

"_Don't be a fool," snarled the face. "Better to save your own life and join me… or you'll meet the same end as your parents… They died begging me for mercy…"_

"_LIAR!" Harry shouted suddenly._

_Quirrel was walking backwards at him, so that Voldemort could still see him. The evil face was now smiling._

"_How touching…" it hissed. "I always value bravery… Yes, boy, your parents were brave… I killed your father first and he put up a courageous fight… but your mother needn't have died… she was trying to protect you… Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vain."…_

Once again, Harry felt Snape slip out of his thoughts, and found himself on the floor. He was panting rather hard, and the sweat was making his glasses slip down his nose. His head throbbing, he pushed them back up and dragged himself to his feet, feeling faintly dizzy as he did so.

"No better than before." Snape said coldly. "You are hopeless at this task, and you do not try at all. More effort, Potter, or the lessons will stop, and this time you cannot come crying back begging for forgiveness. Now go, I have work to do."

"Yes sir." Harry mumbled, lifting his bag with difficulty and stumbling from the room. 'Bastard,' he thought dimly as he made his way back to Gryffindor Tower, 'sadistic bloody bastard.'

"Harry! Are you alright?" Hermione cried as he staggered into the mostly empty common room exactly two minutes before curfew. He groaned as her voice cut through his head like a saw, dropped his bag on the floor, and nearly collapsed into a leather armchair.

"Hey mate, bad lesson?" Ron asked concernedly, leaving his Quidditch magazine and coming to join the other two. Harry nodded carefully, wincing as pain lanced through his brain. Hermione sighed sympathetically, and produced a vial of pain relief potion Harry and she had brewed up in secret earlier that year. Harry was immensely grateful of his best friends' skill in potion making as it dulled some of the pain after swigging the lot.

"Thanks Hermione." He yawned, barely covering his mouth with a limp hand. "I think I'll go to bed."

"Good idea, mate. At least it's a Friday, so you don't have to get up tomorrow." Ron said as Harry picked up his bag and stood shakily.

"Yeah." He muttered. "'Night."

"'Night Harry." Hermione said, patting his arm before going back to her book.

"'Night." Said Ron, scowling at Hermione's concern over her best friend.

Within minutes of lying down in bed, barely getting into his pyjamas, Harry was asleep. Strange images of birds and fire and water, along with faces of people he knew or felt he should recognise passed through his dreams, but when he awoke late Saturday morning, he couldn't remember any of it.

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Now review guys, I'm not a bloody Legillimens!

FireOpal.


	2. Flying

**Disclaimer:** - Nil desperandum, HP fans, it's still not mine. sigh 

**FireOpal's Comments:- **Chapter 2 guys! Hope you like it!

Check out my LiveJournal - http/ an opportunity for you guys to bother me to death! Stories will probably be posted there too at a later date.

* * *

**Chapter 2.**

Harry was awoke next morning, and stretched luxuriously in the warmth and comfort of his darkened four-poster bed. The run of nightmares was still pretty bad, but he might as well take this opportunity to try and relax now, especially seeing as he still felt tired and worn from last night's lessons. Pondering, Harry thought of all the things he had learnt so far this year.

How to mess with Dark Detectors came first of course. He sniggered, once again picturing Professor Turner's face. Then he sobered a little and continued with the list. Ron fancies Hermione, and vice versa (though he suspected that one had been coming a while, and he only noticed just now). Professor Dumbledore, great wizard though he is, cannot choose Defence Professors. He grinned at that one, and continued the imaginary record. Snape is a bastard.

Hastily, that one got scratched off the list, a wry grin on his face. No, he had always known Snape was a bastard. Snape is a hopeless teacher, maybe? Yeah, that fitted better. And the denouement – that Snake Face had attacked another village of muggles. He sighed as he remembered the vision he had just had, interspersed between his nightmares. Children as young as five, and younger, being tortured whilst their parents watched, sobbing and screaming. Blood everywhere, bodies littering the floor, the sound of laughter from the hooded Death Eaters, and, all too late, the cracks that signalled the approach of Aurors. The entire village had been decimated by the time they had finally arrived, and all they had been able to do was clean up the mess and catalogue the incident.

Harry shook his head as he got up groggily and winced at the bright sunlight beyond the sanctuary of his bed. It looked to be late morning, and the rest of the dormitory was deserted. At least he could have a shower in peace.

When he eventually walked down the stairs into the Gryffindor common room, it was lunchtime, and Harry was starving. His two best friends greeted him happily, Ron joking that he would be turning into the regular old Rip Van Winkle if he slept any more. Harry and Hermione where a bit surprised that Ron knew about this muggle fairytale, but when they asked, Ron scornfully explained it was all a large sleeping charm some eccentric hermit-wizard had placed over his mountain to keep trespassers away.

They left the common room to go to lunch, Hermione still grilling Ron on the precise spell and incantation used to put entire sections of mountain under enchantment, and Harry yawning. Luckily, it was a Hogsmeade weekend, so all the usual crowd of annoying third years up had gone out to enjoy the first weekend of the year. Honestly, he was sure he'd never been an annoying little brat like all the third years seemed to be nowadays, but then he did have a supposedly insane mass murderer on the loose and after him. That, of course, brought his mind onto thoughts of Sirius, so he was especially grateful when they got into the Great Hall, and sat down.

"Morning, Harry!" chirped Colin Creevy, waving from his seat next to a small group of Gryffindor fifth years. Harry groaned. Why hadn't he gone to Hogsmeade? Now he had to endure a whole day dodging the (as Ron had dubbed it) 'Harry Potter Fan Club'. He waved back reluctantly, and sat, reaching for the sandwiches and pumpkin juice, a frown already forming on his features.

"You OK, Harry?" Ron said in an undertone from his seat on the right of Harry. Harry nodded.

"Yeah, fine, except the little gang over there is making plans to stake me out in the common room." It was true, he could hear them quite clearly from where he sat, trying to hide his face.

"I'll get 'em to buzz off." Ron said confidently, reaching in his pocket to show Harry something, holding it low under the table so it couldn't be seen.

"What's that?" Harry asked curiously. It was a bright red packet, bearing white letters. 'Weasley's Wizard Wheezes – Antsy Antics'.

"Fred sent me some, as a sort of 'school survival kit'. I was planning to use it on Professor Turner, but then Fred said that it might react quite badly, and I didn't want a detention. Creevy and the others'll be fine," he added hastily as Harry raised an eyebrow. "Fred reckons a good wash and some Bite Balm on the worse ones will leave 'em fit as fleas." He sniggered at his own joke. Harry grinned.

"Ta, mate. I didn't want to spend the whole afternoon hiding in the dorms again just to get away from them."

"What are you two up to?" Hermione said suddenly, looking up from her book. Ron hid the packet swiftly, a slightly guilty look on his face and the tips of his ears starting to burn.

"Nothing." He said hurriedly, causing Hermione to shoot him a sceptical look. Harry took over, knowing how bad a liar Ron could be, especially in front of Hermione. He also knew that if the studious girl knew about 'Operation – Avoid Colin', she would immediately confiscate the powder and glare at them all day.

"Planning a surprise for Professor Turner next lesson," he invented smoothly. "I thought maybe the whole Detector thing could be getting old, and we were going to send a letter to Fred and George for ideas."

"Oh." Hermione said, slightly disappointed.

"Not that we don't value your ideas, Hermione." Ron added hastily, catching on.

"Of course, that one where you showed me how to make it flash Slytherin colours so she would suspect them, and then turned it into a snake – genius." Hermione, slightly mollified, turned back to her book and salad, a small smile on her face.

"How do you do that?" Ron hissed to Harry.

"What?" he asked, puzzled. Ron took a bite of sandwich, chewed and swallowed.

"Lie so convincingly." He replied in a low voice. "Even I was starting to believe what you said!" Harry shrugged.

"Skill?" he said, before finishing his toast and swigging the last of his juice. "Come on, we have a letter to write."

"A letter?" replied Ron, almost indecipherable as he stuffed the remnants of his lunch into his mouth.

"Yeah." Said Harry meaningfully to Ron, who remained stumped for a second. "You know, to Fred and George…?"

"Oh, yeah." Said Ron unconvincingly, and Harry rolled his eyes. Honestly. Luckily, Hermione was immersed in her book again – "Banishing Brain Blocks for the Brainy.", and didn't hear a word. Ron wordlessly removed the packet again, slit it open (carefully, so as not to get it on his own hands) and tapped his wand at the powder inside. To Harry's astonishment, it turned invisible, and he watched surreptitiously as Ron moved his wand, a slight shimmer in the air where the powder was floating, and moved it to sit in the air directly above Colin. With a swift flick of his wand, hidden from view by Harry's arm, the powder fell onto the unsuspecting group.

"Now what?" whispered Harry to the trying-not-to-grin redhead.

"Now we wait a few seconds." Ron whispered back, trying to continue eating his chicken sandwich. Harry followed suit, selecting an apple to munch on, his eyes continuing to drift back to the poor prank-victims.

A few seconds later, Colin yawned and stretched, scratching at his shoulder as he relaxed again. Then he scratched his arm. Then his nose. Pretty soon, Colin was rubbing his arms panic-stricken as the itching got the better of him, and, wide-eyed, he dashed out of the Hall. Dennis and the others quickly followed suit as tiny red marks appeared on their skin, and several titters followed their exit.

"I wonder what's up with them?" Hermione said, frowning slightly over the top of her book. With a straight face to beat Fred and George, Harry shrugged and replied calmly.

"Maybe they're allergic to something." Ron was red-faced trying to stop laughing, and hid behind Harry quickly, his hand clamped over his mouth.

"Mmm." Hermione murmured, already going back to her book. Harry gave his best friends a small smile, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he tried to stop Ron choking on his pumpkin juice.

"So, what are you two doing today?" Hermione said after a while, snapping her book shut and smiling at them. Ron shrugged, his face finally returning to its usual hue, but Harry's face fell.

"I've got to go and see Dumbledore." His friends' faces fell, and Hermione shot him a sympathetic, concerned look.

"Another vision?" Harry nodded.

"Yeah." Harry forced the pictures of torture and death out of his head as he returned to his lunch. He picked at the food disinterestedly for a few minutes, before he stood abruptly. "I'd better go."

"See you later, mate." Ron called, patting him on the shoulder as he left. He waved, and set off for the familiar gargoyle statue that led to the Headmaster's office. The statue seemed to give him a wink as he gave it the password, but he wasn't surprised, as he had probably been into this office more times than Fred and George, or even his dad and the Marauders.

He was drawn out of his usual musings as an elderly voice called out to him from the other side of the door.

"Come on in Harry." Shaking his head with a small smile at the older wizard's mischievous nature, he opened the door and entered. As usual, the wizard had already conjured him a cup of tea, and a plate of assorted biscuits sat near his preferred chair, and wore a twinkly-eyed smile. He glanced fondly at the painting of Uldrius Pentaximus, a Roman wizard Harry was acquainted with, and whom he knew for a fact had followed him from the Great Hall to inform the aged wizard of his arrival. He had met the amiable painting when he had taken a wrong turning on the way to the Room of Requirement, and the classical wizard had been more than happy to point him on his way, but not before he had told him his life's story.

"Ah, Harry. Not that I am happy to have you join me, but I was wondering if there was a particular reason for today's visit?" Albus said cheerily, attracting Harry's attention. Harry sat down and picked up his cup of tea to fill his hands.

"Yes, there is sir. I'm afraid I've had another vision." Albus' face turned sorrowful and sympathetic.

"Is Occlumency still not working then? I did hope that your new lessons would stop them."

"No sir." Harry said, looking into his cup, as if trying Trelawney's method of foretelling the future.

"Where was it?" Albus said with a sigh. "Any chance of survivors?" Harry shook his head, a lump forming in his throat. He swallowed, trying to clear his throat to speak.

"He was there, there was no chance of survival. I'd say about fifty Death Eaters at least, about ten Dementors." He didn't add that all the children had been rounded up with their families watching as they were tortured brutally by the wizards, then left to feed the ecstatic Dementors. Their screams had echoed round his mind, as well as the sobs and cries of the families, before they were silenced. Harry took a deep breath and continued.

"I heard one of the Death Eaters say where they were – Prestwold. I think it's near Nottingham."

"Thank you Harry." Albus said gently as Harry tied to keep his composure. He knew how the visions affected the boy, but short of forcing him to talk about it, which knowing his temperament wouldn't help, he was at a loss unless the boy asked for help. So like his father.

"I'll inform the Minister in case he doesn't already know." He added. Harry nodded, and fidgeted.

"May I go, sir?" Albus smiled.

"By all means. I'm sure Mr Weasley and yourself will be free of Messers Creevy today, so I wouldn't want to stop you enjoying yourselves." Harry looked up sharply to see the light in the headmaster's eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about sir." Harry replied calmly, putting down his cup.

"Of course. Pardon me." Albus said as Harry stood. "Have a good day."

"Bye sir."

"Check mate, mate."

"But I was just about to win!"

"Will you two stop arguing?" Hermione interrupted. Harry pouted at the slightly annoyed brunette. They were in the common room, Harry and Ron sitting over a rampaged chess set, Hermione sitting and writing her homework (an essay on nerve stimulating potions) with a satisfied-looking Crookshanks curled over her feet.

"But arguing makes it fun!" countered Harry. Hermione just sighed and flicked her wand so that the textbook currently floating in mid air beside her changed page.

"It's still check mate." Ron said, and several of his white pieces nodded, muttering amongst themselves about bad losers.

"You're all ganging up on me!" Harry protested feebly as a particularly violent bishop of Ron's decided to wreak revenge on the death of it's brother by knocking out the remaining black pieces.

"Who's ganging up on who?" said Ginny as she came through the portrait hole, clutching her broom in one hand. Harry turned with a grin, which he quickly changed to a pout, pointing at Ron and Hermione.

"They are." Ginny grinned, placing her hands on her hips.

"Are you accusing my older brother of ganging up on you?" Harry nodded.

"Yup."

"Fine. Want me to hex him for you?" Ron turned, his mouth agape.

"Hey, you're supposed to stick up for me! You're my sister!" Ginny grinned maliciously.

"Yes, and?"

"Besides, why would I need you to hex him for me?" Harry said, quirking an eyebrow, and holding up his wand. Ron paled.

"Honestly, stop this!" Hermione said hotly, her book closing with a snap and floating down to the floor.

"Sticking up for Ron, Hermione? Didn't know you had it in you." Ginny commented, before dashing out of the room as Hermione cast a quick _tarantellegra _at her, missing by millimetres. The red head's happy laughter floated down the staircase to the girl's dorms, making Hermione blush red and Ron's ear tips to flush. Harry wisely chose not to comment, but instead gathered up his chess pieces silently, having to stun the rogue bishop of Ron's in order to get back his mangled queen.

"Um, I think I'll go to bed." Ron said eventually, avoiding Hermione's eyes, and leaving as fast as possible whilst trying to not be too obvious. Harry hid his grin, and instead turned to Hermione, who flatly avoided him, instead staring at her essay, pretending to be correcting it.

"Right, spill." He said, standing and collapsing onto the nearest armchair. He remained in the same position, looking directly at the brunette until she gave in.

"Spill what?" she said absently, her heart beating in her ears as she maintained some semblance of calm. Harry grinned.

"You, Ron, spill."

"I really don't know what you mean." The brainy girl replied, fighting the heat that was trying to rise in her cheeks.

"Oh yes you do." Harry said, his voice light, his eyes shining with mirth.

"No, I honestly can't say –" Harry rolled his eyes.

"Oh yes? Stealing glances across a crowded room? Sticking up for him, all the time? This sudden need to lend him your homework – 'just in case'?" Hermione avoided his eyes, her cheeks hot. "Now, normally, I'd expect this sort of behaviour from, say, Cho Chang and company," he mock-shuddered, "and Lavender and Paravti occasionally, or at least when Justin walks past, but you Hermione?" he shook his head, grinning. "I thought you were more subtle than them."

"Well, with someone like Ron you can't exactly afford to be subtle!" Hermione said hotly, then throwing a hand across her mouth, her eyes wide. "I-I did not just say that…"

"Oh yes you did." Replied Harry, thoroughly enjoying himself. Besides, the two needed a prod in the right direction before Gryffindor Tower collapsed down on them with the build-up of romantic tension.

"Please, don't tell Ron, I don't mean it-" Hermione blustered, ignoring her essay completely.

"Of course you meant it, I'm not thick. Well, no more than most." He grinned again. "And all you need is a little help…"

"No, really, please Harry…" Hermione protested, seeing a mischievous gleam appear in his eyes.

"I really must do something, for the safety of the House don'cha know." He said melodramatically. "Now, here's the plan…" Harry continued, talking over her meaningless flustering, detailing his full and simple plan – Operation Weasley/Granger Matchmaker.

The next evening, Gryffindor Common Room…

"I think I'd better go to bed." Harry said yawning and laying aside his homework. He threw a glance across at the bushy-haired girl opposite and winked, and she blushed in return.

"Don't go mate, I'll be up in a minute and I need your help on the uses of Defensive Jinxes…" Ron protested, scribbling away at a sheet of parchment.

"Do it tomorrow Ron, it's not as if she's going to collect it in. And I know Hermione, I know." He said, cutting off her usual stern remonstrations about how he 'shouldn't be neglecting his studies just because the subject teacher wasn't up to standard'. "And I'm really tired, I've got another headache." It was true, there was a slight pressure around his temples that was starting to spread, and he knew it would be a killer if he stayed up any longer.

"Fine, be up in a minute." He replied absentmindedly, still scribbling. Harry shot Hermione another wink and left, dragging his satchel upstairs and dumping it at the end of his bed, before changing and getting into bed.

Meanwhile downstairs…

"Ron…" Hermione said, putting aside her own homework and trying not to fidget nervously.

"Mmm…?" he replied, not looking up. He was trying not to blush at the fact that they were both left, alone, in an empty Common Room, and trying to complete his essay at the same time. 'The things you do for love' he mused silently as he contemplated his essay.

"Never mind." She said hurriedly, turning back to her essay, a small smile on her lips. Ron inwardly shook his head and tried to remember the exact incantation of the Circumagio-Invertus curse. A few minutes later; the silent common room was still blissfully empty and the only sound coming from the scratching of Ron's quill and the crackle of the fire. Hermione looked up.

"Ron…"

"Mmm?" Ron replied again, looking up briefly. Hermione quickly affixed a serious expression on her face as she tried to contain her giggles. Merlin this boy was so innocent! "What is it? Is there something wrong?" 'But so wonderfully loyal and caring' she amended to herself.

"I think we need to talk." Ron looked up fully, his essay forgotten.

"What is it? Is it Harry?" She nearly rolled her eyes. If she didn't know better, she would think he was obsessed with Harry Potter. But after Harry's revelation of the broken prophecy at the beginning of the year, she had to admit they both tended to worry more over the introverted teen. With careful movements, she aside her essay and threaded her fingers together in her lap worriedly. Time to take the bull, sorry, Weasley, by the horns. Wand maybe? She giggled inwardly.

At Hermione's obviously tense movements, he put aside his own essay and crossed the room to kneel in front of her, his eyes concerned. He reached tentatively for her hand and held it gently in his own. Check One.

"Are you all right?" he said softly, searching her face with his eyes. She avoided his eyes with her own carefully, knowing the plan would be foiled the second her eyes joined with his beautiful blue ones.

"No." she said as softly as she could, closing her eyes tightly. Ron started to look alarmed, but he tucked a strand of her soft brown hair behind her ear tenderly, his fingers ghosting her cheek.

"What is it? Can I help?" She smiled inwardly. Now for the killer…

"Yes, you can…" she whispered, opening her eyes and reaching down swiftly to brush her lips with his. He was startled for a second, and that was how was all the time the contact took, and she drew back slowly, still keeping her eyes averted.

"Hermione?" he asked weakly.

"I can't live without you knowing." She blurted. "I don't expect you to feel the same or anything, I just couldn't go on without you knowing about this," her fingers almost absently brushed across her lips, "I'm sorry."

Moving swiftly again, she packed up her bags with a wave of her wand and reached down for the handle on her bag. Fingers closed over hers as she gripped the leather, and she looked up, startled. Blue eyes met brown, and they both froze.

"Don't be." He whispered, reaching up to kiss her again, gently. He pulled back and ran a hand over her cheek. "Don't be, I'm sorry, I should've, I-"

"Shhh…." Hermione said, touching his lips with a finger, a small smile on her face. "You talk too much."

In the shadows, covered by an invisibility cloak, Harry stood, a grin on his face. Finally. Silently, he swept back upstairs, his bare feet hopping over the cold stone. He was in bed and nearly asleep as Ron came into the dorms a little later that night, and without looking, Harry could imagine the look on his best friends' face. He grinned, and sank into sleep.

The next week passed without event, unless you count Dennis Creevy being held in the hospital wing by Madame Pomfrey, covered in throbbing red bites, or Lavender's hair going blue after her hair-dying charm went wrong. Before they knew it, Saturday was on them again, and, as had been the habit since the start of term, the Gryffindor Quidditch Team rose at the crack of dawn, stumbled through the corridors in hastily arranged scarlet robes, snatched some toast and met up on the pitch. The sun was peeking sleepily over the horizon, tingeing the sky pink, gold and red, and shining brightly already, promising a beautiful autumn day. The wind ruffled his teammates hair as Harry surveyed his team proudly. After the ban from Umbridge last year (hurriedly lifted by McGonagle on the condition he won all of this years matches), he had been given the honour of captaining the team. At first, he had protested and said that someone else more experienced should take the position, but Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell, the two remaining seventh years on the team had insisted he take the position, as they had to focus on their Chasing ability.

Telling Ron had posed a bit of a problem, but the redhead had taken it extremely well, congratulating his best friend with a huge grin and prophesying the cup with their names on it. For about a week afterwards, he had kept an eye on his friend as he knew he had wanted it since first year, but Ron was completely happy with the idea.

Now, he stood facing the sunlight, his hand shielding his bright green eyes and looking over the team. His team. Katie and Alicia were still there obviously, as Chasers, Ron as Keeper, him as Seeker. Fred and George had left last year (it was still the talk of the school), and had left him with two large holes, along with the need for another Chaser. After a few tryouts, he had finally settled on the ones in front of him, entirely confident with their ability.

Ginny, surprisingly, had come along, her copper hair tied back with a black band and a rather beaten looking broom in her hand. Tentatively at first, she had quickly become fast friends with the two Chasers, and, though she was two years younger than them, they formed a formidable team. She was currently battling with her masses of hair into a bobble, Fred's borrowed broom on the ground in front of her.

The Beaters Harry had quickly realised would be the hardest to replace, and for several days had dreamt and thought seriously of contacting Fred and George to fill in for him. Eventually, however, he had found two burly best friends in their fourth year – Robin Everal and Christopher Bews. They seemed friendly enough, even if they were a little intimidated by the rest of the team, who had all been together at some point last year.

"Right!" he said enthusiastically, clapping his hands to get their attention. Ron glared at him, startled by the noise, and the younger Weasley looked just as putout, but Katie and Alicia just looked at each other, rolling their eyes simultaneously. "I want you all in the air, some quick passing practise today. Ron, you go with Chris and Robin, Katie, Alicia, Ginny, you're in a three. I want you just passing first, then we can work on aggressive passing and catching, and then have a quick game if we've got time."

Everyone nodded and went into their separate groups, taking a practise quaffle and mounting into the air. Harry decided to let them get into the exercises first, and mounted into the air, taking in the beauty of the early Sunday morning as he rose higher and higher. After a few quick laps of the pitch and some dives to wake him up fully and get his muscles warmed up, he flew over to Ron and watched for a few seconds. As Robin clumsily caught the quaffle by his fingertips, Harry decided to intervene, shooting a quick look to Ron to back him up.

"Right, how we doing?" he said, and the young Beater flushed, getting a better grip on the large red leather ball.

"Not too bad." Ron replied, gesturing for the boy to pass him the ball and caught it easily.

"Why are we doing this?" Chris asked exasperatedly as Ron threw the ball at him and he caught it, immediately loping it over to his friend. "We're Beaters, we don't need to know how to catch the quaffle."

"It's not just about your ability to catch and throw" Harry explained patiently. "This is an exercise in hand-eye coordination, it should mean you can hit the bludgers better, but by practising it in a different way. And besides, if we ever need to exchange people for some reason, I'd like to see that you can all catch a ball."

"I hadn't thought about it like that." Chris said thoughtfully, and Harry grinned, nodded at Ron and flew off to observe the girls.

"How's it going?" he yelled, perching in the air. Alicia, Katie and Ginny flew a little closer to him, still tossing the ball expertly between them.

"Great." Katie replied, taking the ball and passing it swiftly to their captain. Unruffled, Harry dived a little way, swung off his broom to the left, caught the ball in one hand and easily pulled himself back up.

"Nice throw." He said, with a grin on his face, tossing it back up.

"Just checking our captain wasn't just preaching, but practising." She replied with a smirk. They played a quick four-player came of catch, until Harry, slightly winded, looked at his watch. He took the whistle McGonagle had given him with his badge from round his neck and blew it sharply, gesturing for them to join him on the ground. Once they had all landed again, Harry opened the large trunk that contained the balls and set the quaffle on top.

"As we have seven players, this isn't going to work out exactly. I want two teams – Ron, if you take Katie and Robin, and Alicia, you go with Ginny and Chris. I'll swap in with Ron halfway through. It's a simple set-up – Beaters' play Beaters, Chasers play Chasers and one Keeper per team. We won't use the Snitch; we just play until I stop the game. OK?"

Everyone nodded, and Harry carefully let out the two bludgers. Released from their bindings, the two magical balls flew directly into the air as Harry passed the bats out and they mounted into the air. And they were off.

Ginny and Ron decided to take the positions of Keeper, leaving Alicia and Katie to play against each other. The two experienced Chasers put up a good dance, as two scarlet blurs across the pitch, giving the Weasleys a run for their money. Harry grinned with satisfaction as he watched his flawless team, and, shielding his eyes, happened to glance over at the stands. A small black dot was moving along the topmost row, and sat down, it's hair blowing in the wind. He flew over to get a better look, and realised as the bushy brown hair came into focus, that it was Hermione. Speeding up, he raced to the stands, swerving at the last moment to avoid a collision and hanging in the air.

"Harry! Don't do that!" said Hermione, clutching her chest, shocked out of her life. Harry smirked, his green eyes bright.

"Sorry." He said unapologetically. Hermione shot him a harmless glare, but unwrapped the small stack of toast she had brought out with her. Playfully, Harry swiped a piece, and flew off a little distance as he ate it.

"Oh, you! Anyway, how's the practice?"

"Fine, in fact I should probably swap in in a moment. So, how've you and Ron been recently?" he added teasingly as Hermione blushed.

"Fine." She said, avoiding his eyes. With a chuckle, he flew off slowly, calling over his shoulder something he heard in a movie once.

"You want to kiss him, you want to hold him, you want to touch him…"

"HARRY!" Hermione screamed embarrassedly, blushing further when the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team turned to see what the noise was about. She watched as Harry flew up, blew his whistle and swapped places with Ron, passing across the whistle and instructions on when to blow it. She watched the red head nod and start the game again, a tinge of wistfulness in her gaze as she watched the players swoop and glide, weightless. Closing her eyes in jealousy, she didn't notice when her boyfriend flew up next to her, and leaned across. The first she knew was when Ron leant across and kissed her lips gently, making her eyes fly open.

"Hello." He said quietly, a small smile on his face, which she returned.

"Hello to you too." She fiddled with one of the remaining pieces of toast with her fingers.

"Are you all right?" he asked concernedly, reaching out to tuck a few strands of her hair out of her face.

"Fine." She replied distractedly, before looking up and smiling properly. "I'm fine."

"You want to come for a ride?" he asked casually, gesturing to his broom. Hermione's eyes widened and she paled slightly.

"Um, no thanks." She said, swallowing.

"Sure?" he said gently. "I'll fly slow and be really careful. I don't think you've ever really been on a broom, have you?"

"Not really." She acceded reluctantly. Actually, she had never been on a broom. The only lesson they had on flying in first year was enough to put her off, and the subsequent Quidditch matches almost made her sick. But it looked so graceful, and peaceful with nothing but the air around you.

"Come on, Mione, live a little." He teased gently, making the broom hover just above the seats and getting off. The scholar bit her lip, looking from her boyfriend to the rather thin and shabby looking broom. Well, one little ride wouldn't hurt, would it? And if Ron were there, he wouldn't hurt her. Seeing Hermione start to crumble under his careful suggestions, he went for the kill. "I'll get Harry to catch you if you fall off."

"Um, OK." She said, and, with Ron's help, threw a leg over the hovering broom and sat down tentatively. It wasn't too bad, with her legs just brushing the wooden bench of the seats. 'Must be some cushioning charms' she mused, clutching the broom in front of her tightly. Ron casually got on in front of her, and she swiftly moved her hands to firmly hug around his waist.

"If I fall, you're going too." She said shakily, leaning her head against his shoulders, and winding her legs together.

"OK." He replied over his shoulder, gently easing the broom over the edge of the seating. Hermione shut her eyes tightly, not wanting to see the far drop below her. She could feel them moving slowly forwards, not much faster than a tortoise, or so it seemed to her. Gradually, she started to relax, letting her legs dangle, but keeping her eyes shut.

"You all right?" Ron said from the front.

"Yeah." Hermione muttered, trying to get up the courage to open her eyes. After all, what was the point in flying if you couldn't see anything? 'Come on Hermione.' She said fiercely to herself, and threw open her chocolate coloured eyes. They were up, a long way up. The ground was a dizzyingly long way away, the trees little more than matchsticks on a carpet of green. The lake was reflecting the morning sunlight like a mirror, and she could even see Hagrid's hut with its customary plume of smoke. A long long way away. She whimpered.

"What's wrong?" asked Ron concernedly, turning his head to try to see his girlfriend.

"I-It, It's such a long way!" Hermione breathed, her eyes wide. Her stomach was flipping around like a salmon, and her hair blew gently around her face.

"I can go lower if you like…" said Ron worriedly. Hermione shook her head gently, getting a grip on herself.

"No, it's fine." To prove her point, she gently moved her head away from Ron's back and loosened her grip slightly. She grinned. "I can see why you like this."

She looked across at the Quidditch team, where Harry and Ginny had broken off, Harry speeding towards them, before coming to a halt close to them.

"Flying, Hermione?" said the emerald-eyed boy amusedly. The red haired girl had a huge grin on her face as she eyed the couple.

"OK, Hermione?" she said, a mischievous glint in her eyes. She mock glared in return, suddenly noticing how her arms were around Ron's waist.

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you." She replied with a fake sniff. "Just out taking a flight with my boyfriend." Ron stiffened slightly, and Hermione gently tightened her grip on his waist. She knew Harry already knew, and Ginny would know sooner or later. Better it be sooner.

"Boyfriend?" Ginny said, raising an eyebrow, a grin lighting on her lips. "I see congratulations are in order." She turned to Harry. "Well done, Harry."

Ron spluttered. "Harry? What did Harry do?" Ginny looked across at her brother with a guilty look.

"Oops," Was all she said, and flew off, her cheeks reddening. Ron turned to Harry.

"Oops?" the Seeker said, a tiny grin on his face. Ron looked from Harry, to the space where Ginny had hovered, and to his girlfriend biting her lip, her hands still tight around his waist. Startling his two best friends, he grinned and rolled his eyes.

"Were we really that bad?" he directed to Harry.

"Yup." Harry replied sympathetically. He threw his hand to his forehead in a dramatic gesture, and threw himself back, holding onto the broom with only his legs. "It was terrible." Hermione looked away at the dangerous move, and forced herself to breathe.

Harry, noting Hermione's sudden movement, flung himself upright again. "Sorry Mione." He said apologetically, and she turned back to grin weakly at him.

"It looks less dangerous from the stands." She said shakily.

"Come on." Ron said, taking her attention away from the ground, which seemed to be getting further away despite the fact they were sitting still in the middle of thin air. He pressed the broom forwards again, Harry acting as escort, the Quidditch practise forgotten.

Some time later, the trio touched down near the edge of the pitch, and Hermione got of, her legs rubbery. Harry swung his Firebolt over his shoulder easily, and turned to Hermione.

"You OK there Mione?" She nodded, swallowing and standing straighter. Ron kissed her lightly on the cheek, and she turned to him with a grin.

"I'm fine." She reassured them, but then a frown crossed her face. "Oh bother, I left my bag in the stands."

"I'll fetch it for you." Harry offered, and Hermione bit her lip.

"Yeah, sure." She said reluctantly. The boys noticed this and shared a puzzled look.

"What's wrong?" said Ron softly. Hermione flushed.

"Um, nothing." She said quickly. Harry and Ron shared another look, and Harry shrugged.

"Sure?" Ron said, puzzled.

"Well, maybeIcouldgoandgetitmyself?" Hermione said, very quickly and very quietly. She avoided her friends' eyes and instead looked at the ground.

"Huh?" Ron said, and Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"I said, um, maybe I could, like, go and get it myself." Ron was still puzzled.

"But it'll be faster by broom…"

"I meant by broom!" Hermione said, exasperated and embarrassed.

"Oh," was all Ron could say. "You mean you want to fly up there and get it by yourself?"

"Yes." Hermione mumbled, looking back down at the ground. "But it doesn't matter, I'll just take the stairs-"

"Here Mione." Harry said, proffering his Firebolt. Hermione looked up at it and took it carefully. "If you want to fly, we'll help you." Hermione smiled shyly, and Ron grinned.

"Yeah, we'll turn you into quite the Quidditch star!" he said, ducking as she swiped at him playfully. "Besides, we owe you one after all the times you've leant us your homework."

"Quite true." The bookworm grinned, then her expression turned focused as Ron explained the basics of broom flying.

"Right, just place it on the ground like we did in first year-"

"Ron, I'm not thick, I can remember our first flying lesson… Up! No, up!" Her tone turned stern. "Up! Up!"

"Try thinking about what it felt to fly behind me on the broom, and try to not feel scared or anything-"

"I'm not scared! UP!" There was the thwack of wood against flesh. "Ow!"

"A bit too much feeling in that." Ron grinned. "Now, just prop it in the air beside you and climb on. Then, put your hands here," he adjusted her grip slightly, "and push of lightly from the ground."

"Yeah, don't do a Neville." Harry said with a chuckle. "I for one don't want to have to cart you off to the Hospital Wing."

"Thanks a lot." Hermione replied, clinging tightly to the broom. She closed her eyes briefly to compose herself, and pushed down with her feet. Gently, she rose into the air, until she was hovering about half a metre above the ground. Ron quickly mounted as well, and hovered next to her, continuing to give her directions.

"Now, just lean back a bit, that's right and go forwards. Then, when you've got the hang of that we can try going faster."

"Faster?" Hermione squeaked. Ron grinned at her reassuringly.

"Yup. Bet you wish you had Harry up here now, with his reflexes, he'd catch you before you'd even fallen off!"

"No, I'm glad you're here Ron." She replied, tentatively rising.

On the ground, Harry watched the two fly slowly around, and grinning, took off for the showers, happy for his friends.

Stripping off his leather Seeker gloves and shrugging his scarlet robes over his head, he pondered on what he was going to do with the rest of his day. He winced slightly as some muscles in his back protested movement, but continued to undress and stepped into the shower, which turned on magically. The consistently hot water felt good on his skin, and he felt his mind wander as his muscles relaxed.

Several interesting ideas for pranking the good Defence Professor's lessons filtered through his mind, and he resolved to send a letter to Remus later on for some finer points. He and the older Marauder had become good friends over the summer, and, while he was no Sirius, Harry felt he was easily the most trustable adult he knew. He grinned fondly at the memory of the werewolf chasing him around the garden at the Burrow, his normally sandy hair a dark brunette with little wolf ears poking through. One of his first pranks, and, to be perfectly honest, Harry was quite proud of it. Though the idea hadn't been his, Sirius had once mentioned the idea during the holidays, but they had never got around to it.

Thinking of Sirius brought a lump to his throat, and he closed his eyes tightly, trying to swallow the emotion away. Dropping his head, he concentrated on the way the water trickled through his hair and down his nose as he forced the pain away. He just felt so guilty, and missed the older man more than anything. After a few minutes in which he finally composed himself, he turned off the shower and, reaching for his wand in his robes pocket, cast a drying spell on himself and, taking his clean clothes from a locker, dressed.

When he got outside, he saw two figures walking slowly up from the pitch, and, grinning, decided to wait for his best friends. As they got in sight, Ron looked up and waved at Harry. They sped up, and soon enough, the trio were walking back up to the castle. Unbeknownst to them, a pale teenager was watching them as they walked; pair of binoculars around his neck and an inscrutable look on his features.

Your reviews, or your life. Honest.

FireOpal.

**Review Responses.**

**brightshadow133 – **Here you are, and I agree… would be so cool if I was JKR. daydreams

**Xock** – Nice thoughts here, Snape is acting like this for a reason. Which you will find out reasonably shortly. Heh heh heh, I love writing. I'm glad you didn't find any major errors breathes sigh of relief , and I think Harry would be more mischievous now. Maybe he's trying to compensate for his depression? I haven't quite figured that, but trust me, I like mischievous!Harry, he's fun. Don't worry though, he'll still maintain the other main parts of his character too… Just giving him a bit of a lease in this. grins 


	3. Revelations

**Disclaimer**: - Et ad nauseum - HP fans, it's still not mine. sigh 14 days 'til HBP! 

**FireOpal's Comments:- **Phew, this was hard work. Just had exams, so this chapter is a little shorter than the last two, but also because this is a good stopping point. Finally we learn of the letters! Its taken me this week to type this up from my handwritten notes (written in Exam revision periods), as my father keeps stealing the pc for no apparent reason. Growl. Anyway, it's here, finally. Enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter 3: Revelations.**

"POTTER!" 'Oh no, not again…' thought Harry dully, discreetly trying to hold his hand to his throbbing temple. Sure enough, the overgrown bat swooped over to his bench with all the grace of a lame dung beetle. "Why must you try my patience? Can you not get it into your single over-inflated, egotistic, wool-filled excuse for a brain cell that you must work instead of merely relying on the good grace and over-looking glances of your fame-blinded teachers to get anything near a passable grade? Good Merlin, boy, one has to question how you passed any of your OWLs, let alone Potions, if you handed in anything like this mess!" he gestured at Harry's cauldron, his onyx eyes flashing venomously. Harry winced as the loud and sharp words lanced into his skull, but his professor seemed oblivious.

"Well? Do you have anything to say, or am I going to have to put up with your abominable presence in my office this evening for detention, and the rest of this week?" Harry swallowed. Somehow he knew this was one of those lose-lose situations. If he talked, even without sparing a modicum of manners, then he would be punished. If he remained silent, well, ditto. It rather forcefully reminded him of his uncle, but he quickly banished any such thoughts quickly, trying to stay focused on the present. Of course, this was rather hard, as the throbbing of his heartbeat in his mind disrupted most of his thought-processes, the reason that today's potion was like it was. To be quite honest, Harry knew it was a complete mess, but sighing inwardly, he knew that admitting this wouldn't help matters either.

"Very well then. Detention, Potter, tonight, half past eight in here. I will try to make it worth your while – I'm sure there's some bat spleens that need mincing." Thankfully, with that final comment and the usual death glare, he swept off to the front and barked at the class to hand in their potions. Rubbing his left temple with one hand, he stirred his bubbling mess once more, sighed, and vanished it with his wand. It wasn't worth his while handing it in. Looking across at the person next to him, Hermione gave him a sympathetic glance, before bottling her own near-perfect potion and tidying away. As he was mopping up the bench, he felt another pair of eyes on him, and turned just in time to see Malfoy glance away. Harry frowned slightly, his eyes on the blond Slytherin for a few seconds, before he turned back to the bench and threw his belongings in his bag. At the moment, he couldn't care less whether Malfoy was watching him, he just wanted to get out of the Dungeons, find a pain relief potion and get into bed. Shame it was Transfiguration next.

Hiding his nervousness expertly, Harry raised a clenched fist and knocked as politely as he could. On hearing the usual barked

"Enter!", he opened the door, walked in and closed the door, ignoring the usual dread he felt as the heavy wooden door swung shut. Snape stood in front of him, his back to the door.

"Hurry up, Potter. I haven't got all night!" Snape snarled, turning his head around so that he could see the teen. Harry nodded, walking to where a desk sat at the front of the classroom, a large bucket sitting on it, full to the brim with lots of small, black somethings glistening in the low light. Dropping his bag beside the chair, he opened it to remove his equipment.

"I assume you've seen Bowtruckle eggs before. I want them de-shelling, carefully. If they are not to my satisfaction, you will have to buy me some more, won't you? Begin!" Biting his tongue slightly, Harry took out his scalpel, rolled up his sleeves and tentatively put his hand in the bucket. To his slightly cold hands, the small spherical eggs felt warm, and the shiny iridescent shells were smooth but hard when he picked one up. Wondering how he was supposed to start, he peeked a glimpse at his teacher to check the coast was clear, raised the blunt end of the knife slightly and struck the shell as hard as he dared. A small hairline crack appeared, tracing its way quickly around the sphere in a straight line. With gently questing fingers, he pulled at the crack and the shell fell open, leaving a smaller, jelly-like purple egg in his hand. Spotting a second, empty bucket beside his chair, he tossed it in and reached for another egg.

Half a bucket, 152 eggs and 3 shallow cuts on his hand later (from holding the sharp end of his scalpel), Harry was definitely tiring. The headache he had taken a potion for earlier was starting to press on his mind, and the repetitive motion of 'grab-crack-open-throw' was to getting to him. His mind started to drift dangerously. For a second, he mused on what he was going to do at the weekend, and, in his inattention, he cut his hand again. Not too deep, but rather painful, and it was already starting to bleed. Mentally swearing, he risked a glance at his professor's back, before delving into his bag for something to put on it. His uninjured hand felt over books, parchment, quills, before he found what he was looking for – a clean washing rag. As he pulled it out, it caught on something else, and the still unopened letter fell to the floor. Disturbed by the sudden silence, Snape turned, just in time to see Harry reach out and grab the envelope. In a split second, he recognised it, and spun fully round.

"Potter!" Harry jumped, nearly dropping the letter in shock. "What are you doing?"

"Um, just finding a, er…" he held up the partly-bloodstained rag for proof, but Snape was having none of it.

"Give me that letter."

"Sir?" Harry asked curiously, his gaze glancing down to the emerald writing on the envelope.

"You heard me, the letter, give me the letter!" Snape barked, his eyes promising danger. Quickly, for fear of angering his teacher further, he handed it over. The Potions Master nearly snatched it from him, and clenched it tightly.

"Have you read this?" he asked, his expression tense.

"Um, no sir." Harry replied, wondering if he was going to get told off for not reading 'obviously important mail'. Snape's expression relaxed a fraction.

"Out."

"Sir?" Harry asked again, puzzled. What the hell was going on?

"Get out!" he roared, and, moving swiftly, Harry leapt up, grabbing his bag and running for the door. For a few minutes, he raced down the corridor, putting as much space between him and the classroom as possible. Then trying to calm his wildly beating heart and shaking hands, he swallowed and closed his eyes, before turning to go back up to Gryffindor Tower.

* * *

Ron and Hermione didn't know of the letter. He hadn't told them – a combination of not wanting to intrude on their newfound need for alone time, and the internally apathetic way Harry viewed the document. Yes, it was presumably important, delivered by Fawkes himself, but it obviously wasn't an emergency (judging by the way a week had gone by and he still had to be called to Dumbledore's office), and, to be quite honest, Harry couldn't bring himself to care. Despite Remus' desperate attempts to assure him that Sirius' death was not his fault, something that couldn't be prevented, he still felt it gnaw him inside, underneath the mask he now wore. After all, he doubted the letter had anything to do with Voldemort, and it wouldn't bring Sirius back, so who cared. They, and his friends, were the only things that mattered to him anymore…

* * *

In the Common Room, that evening, Harry, Ron and Hermione sat up late, talking. For once, their conversation was relaxed and inconsequential, avoiding the difficult topics of the war, Voldemort, and Harry. Hermione, surprisingly, had found a hidden stash of Chocolate Frogs that she had bought last Hogsmeade weekend, and, more surprisingly, had avoided the attentions of her chocolate-addicted dorm mates. As Harry was eyeing the depleted pile thoughtfully, the Portrait Hole opened, and a tall black hat came through, followed by the tartan-robed McGonagle.

"Mr Potter," she said, spotting them by the fire with no amount of surprise on her features. "Professor Dumbledore would like to speak with you immediately." Harry nodded, shot a puzzled look at his friends, and stood. Hermione raised her eyebrows briefly to signal her astonishment and curiosity, and Ron just shrugged minutely. Harry followed his transfiguration teacher out of the Common room without another look, seeing the slight tensioning of the lines on her face and knowing she didn't want pushing.

"Has something happened?" he asked, wondering with some consternation as to why he was being taken out of the dorms after curfew.

"I was not informed of any occurrence, Mr Potter." The stern woman replied. This didn't particularly help, other than to mean it had nothing to do with the Order in general, or Voldemort, and she would've known if anyone was hurt…

Still musing, he barely realised when they arrived. McGonagle stopped, her posture strangely stiff.

"The Headmaster stated that my presence would not be necessary." She said, when Harry hesitated. The emerald-eyed wizard could tell from her tone of voice that she was not happy about this. "The password is Floating Flapjacks." With that, she strode off, leaving Harry to make his way up the spiral staircase alone. Feeling slightly nervous now, he knocked and entered when he heard the usual cheery response.

"Enter."

It was suddenly obvious to Harry that this was not going to be a conversation he would enjoy. He bit back a heartfelt groan as he noticed the dour Potions Master sitting in one of two seats near the large desk. Strangely, the sight of Dumbledore's sky blue eyes twinkling madly made him feel even worse, and his stomach gave a lurch as he sat down and declined the mandatory cup of tea and sherbet lemon.

"Now," the elderly headmaster started with a meaningful glance at the pair, "I'm sure we all know why we're here," If possible, Snape's scowl at the wall deepened, and Harry's sense of foreboding increased.

"Um," he interrupted quietly, "I don't." Dumbledore looked at the slight teen sharply.

"Sorry, Harry?"

"I, er, don't know why we're here." Dumbledore was, quite frankly dumbfounded; something that had not happened for a good few years at least. Snape continued to glower into space, and Harry fidgeted. "Is it something to do with the Order?"

"Ah, no Harry, it has nothing to do with the Order, or your friends. This is linked to the matter I spoke of the other week. I take it you read the letter?" he enquired.

"Er, no." Harry said, flushing slightly with guilt, Dumbledore raised one eyebrow, eerily reminiscent of a certain teacher who was also sitting in the room.

"And why not, Harry?"

"I forgot." The teen replied. Albus sighed and sat back in his chair.

"Is it still in your possession? It really is a most urgent matter…"

"It was confiscated." Albus resisted the urge to sigh again and place his head in hid hands. Only one other person knew about that letter, and that was…

"Severus, return Harry's property immediately." The old man rebuked. Honestly, sometimes the man was more childish than the students he taught. Glaring at the younger wizard, Snape reached into a pocket and drew out the envelope, handing it over.

Taking it carefully, he reviewed the front of the parchment again. Same emerald green writing, bearing just his name. 'Harry'. Glancing quickly at the two waiting adults – one patiently sipping his tea, the other returning to scowl impatiently at the wall. What had set off Snape so badly? Then he turned back to the letter, and, with trembling fingers, slit open the flap, withdrew the letter, and read.

_My dearest Harry._

_I have a feeling you will read this, as times are dangerous and I fear for our safety. Know that I do and always will love you my son, my Harry. I wish I were there to tell you this in person, but if you're reading this, then I am dead. Whatever you do, wherever you go, whoever you become, I will always be proud of you._

_This letter will have to be briefer than I would like, as I cannot risk others knowing of the contents, though I loathe the thought of leaving you alone with this. Oh, my little Jewel-eyes, you are so young now, but I know when you read this you will be older, stronger. I hope that life will not give you too many cares and troubles, but I feel in my heart this will not be._

_Harry, I know that this will not be easy for you to accept, but I have no time and must be blunt. Your father is not James Potter. At school, it is true, for many years we argued and got together in our seventh year, but he is not the man I love. There was another in our year, who I loved dearly and will do after I die. We met in secret for a long while, as our relationship would not be accepted, to his parents or anyone. I was the Gryffindor girl, scholarly, popular, and he, a mysterious man with a troubled past, shut off from others, but with a good heart. Nevertheless, he was a Slytherin, and Slytherins and Gryffindors do not mix._

_James was a good man, and when I became pregnant with you, he provided me with an alibi, and I married him. No-one, save me, knew your true identity._

_As I have spelled this letter to arrive to you when the charm on your appearance begins to fade, I assume you are at Hogwarts. I hope it will not come as too much of a shock to learn that Severus Snape, a Potions Master of high repute and likely still Potions Professor at the school, is your father._

_I have sent similar letters to your father and Professor Dumbledore to ensure your safety._

_Know I love you, always, my little star._

_Lily._

He sat, emerald eyes staring at the page, his mind reeling. Snape, _Snape_ was his father. Snape. Father. Dad. All his life was a lie. His mother, his father, who he was…

"Harry?" Dumbledore asked gently, and the boy looked up. Unchecked and unnoticed tears were streaming down his face, and his eyes were haunted. They focused for a split second on Albus' own intense blue, before the lithe boy leapt out of his chair, out of the door, and raced down the stairs, his feet thudding on stone.

"Potter!" Snape called after his retreating back, irritation clear in his voice. He half-moved to fetch the boy back, but was restrained by the headmaster, who sighed deeply.

"Leave him, Severus. He will need to be alone." The Potions Master regarded the older man for a moment, then swept out without a word, his black robes swirling out behind him.

* * *

He couldn't sleep that night, his mind turning between lethargic shock and reeling with a million thoughts. And, after lying in his increasingly uncomfortable four poster with the suddenly annoying snores and snuffles from his catatonic dorm mates echoing in his restless ears, he gave up. Tossing back the covers and creeping out of bed, he tiptoed over to his trunk, opened it and withdrew the infamous Invisibility Cloak and a blank piece of parchment. Wand in hand as ever, he tapped the parchment and whispered the password;

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Immediately, fine lines of ink trailed from the centre, and spelt the words 'Messers Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs are proud to present the Marauders' Map'. After a dew seconds studying the map to check that Severus Snape was in his quarters, Albus Dumbledore was pacing (as ever) in his study and both Argus Filch and Mrs Norris were walking near Raven's Roost (the lofty attic assigned to the Ravenclaws) he threw the Cloak over his shoulders and walked out. He didn't register the small dot marked Harry Potter (Snape) that traced his path to the Owlery.

* * *

The Owlery at night was a rather desolate and empty place, made conspicuous by the absence of the hundred or so jewel-eyed birds that usually filled the room. Now, at this early time in the morning, only a few remained – the diurnal owls that sat with their heads under their wings, and a few nocturnals who relished the unusual peace.

It wasn't the peace that Harry had come for. His usual spot in the Astronomy Tower had had to be rejected on account of the very close, unmoving set of dots already in there. He tried very hard to not think about what Justin was doing in there with a seventh year girl, Daisy, but allowed himself a small smirk at their expense. Lucky he had tha map at least, or his mind might've been scarred again tonight, but for another reason.

He sat down next to the large open windows that gave access to the lofty tower, looking out across the grounds. The view from here was spectacular; encompassing the lake, the forest, Hagrid's hut, and even a corner of the Quidditch pitch. The lake, silver in the light of the moon, shimmered, providing stark contrast to the shadowed edges of the Forbidden Forest.

After a few minutes, Hedwig flew down from her roost and perched next to her master. Blessed by the intelligence of a bird surrounded by magic from the day she had been born, she sensed her kind master's discomfort, and hooted gently.

"Hey Hedwig," he whispered to his old friend, raising a hand to stroke her soft chest feathers. Nipping his hand carefully, she hopped forwards, and did her best to comfort him. Her master was good to her; gave her food when he had none, still sparing a thought for her through all his own troubles, and she would do anything and everything to help him.

* * *

The next morning was a Friday. Luckily, that meant Charms with Flitwick in the morning, and double Defence Against the Dark Arts in the afternoon. Unluckily, Harry still couldn't think properly. He had spent until dawn crept with rosy fingers over the forest-lined horizon in the Owlery, and that had soothed him a little. However, some of his internal turmoil must have shown on his face, judging by the sudden concern his two best friends showed him.

His friends. That was another problem. How, if at all, was he supposed to tell them? At the very beginning of the year, Harry had come to the conclusion that he was endangering his friends by being around them, and spent all week distancing himself from everyone, including an oddly sympathetic Luna. Needless to say, it didn't work, as Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Neville had cornered him in the Common Room and proceeded, by use of words, hexes and tears (the girls mostly), that he was "being a right idiot, and should bloody well accept that they were sticking with him, thick and thin whether he liked it or not". On that night, he had told them, his voice thick with tears of remembrance, of the full Prophecy.

Since then, the five of them had been very close. Each of them relied on the other four for different things, and while there were some things the steadfast Golden Trio kept to themselves, there was acceptance.

But this, this was unlike anything. This was too much for even him to handle, let alone…

"Are you sure you're alright, Harry?" Hermione asked for the millionth time as he stared aimlessly into space, his thoughts a mess. Luckily, it was Defence Against the Dark Arts, so he didn't even have the teachers breathing down his neck, but Hermione seemed to have made it her personal mission to cheer him up or something. On one level, he supposed he could understand her concern, and was even grateful that she cared, but on the other, larger scale, he was just reaching the end of his tether.

"Hermione," he said calmly, sitting back and giving her his full attention. "I am perfectly, completely, utterly and without doubt, fine. But if you ask that question even once more, I most certainly am not going to be fine. Just back off, will you?" He tried to make it sound as polite and gentle as possible, but sometimes, despite all her intelligence and insight, the girl did not know when to let something go.

"OK, if you're sure…" she left the statement hanging in an obvious question.

"Yes." He replied, biting back the urge to grit his teeth. Then, placing his head on his hand resolutely, he slimped back down into a contemplative doze. For a few short seconds, he felt her gaze on him, but then she turned away again.

He was starting to think about it logically now, the initial shock and disbelief were wearing off, leaving him with sickening uncertainty. Surely Snape couldn't be his father? Everyone said he looked so much like his fa- James, but then wasn't that supposed to be part of it? In the past few months he had started to wonder why he only had his mother's eyes, beautiful as they were. Shouldn't it make more sense that he at least have her nose or something?

Another thought drifted across his subconscious. If he really _was _Snape's son (it sounded weird even in his own head), then why did he have to wear glasses? The glasses were from James, and as far as he knew, neither Snape or his mother had needed them. But then yesterday, as far as he had known, he had been Harry James Potter, son of the illustrious and charismatic James Potter, Quidditch champion, Auror and Marauder. Now he was apparently Harry Snape (he shuddered involuntarily)), son of the infamous greasy old bat Severus Snape, Death Eater, Potions Master and Spy.

Just then, he was startled from his thoughts by Professor Turner shouting out from the front of the classroom that the lesson was over. Surprised, he looked around at the class, most of whom where either in a similar state to himself, others lazily completing homework. Another lesson with no work done. Mention that to Hermione and it'd be SPEW all over again. The Anti-Turner Association. Well, the idea had merits… He chuckled quietly to himself, and followed Ron and Hermione out of the class, ignoring the fearful look the teacher gave him as he left, amusement lighting his features.

* * *

"And he said what?"

"He said he was fine, but you can tell, there's definitely something bothering him…" Hermione said in an undertone to her boyfriend, her brown eyes serious. She glanced over her shoulder, noticed said boy approach their usual seats in the Common Room, and quickly looked back at her homework. Harry sighed inwardly as he looked between his best friends, but sat down with a smile.

"Talking about me again?" Ron shook his head.

"Nah, 'course not mate." His red ears said otherwise. Hermione, seeing Harry's disbelieving look, and then the glowing scarlet ears her boyfriend so unwillingly sported, interrupted.

"Yes, we were actually." She fixed him with a penetrating glare. "There's something up with you, don't try to deny it. And we're going to find out what it is."

"There's nothing-" Harry tried, but was beaten to it.

"Harry, even I can tell you're not quite yourself, so give the 'I'm fine's' a rest." Ron said bluntly. "To be honest, I'm rather hurt you can't, or won't tell us, but if you won't tell us…"

"It's not like that!" Harry retorted, his eyes pleading. "You know I trust you guys with everything!"

"Then tell us." Hermione said firmly, her attention solely on the cornered teen.

"Well, for a start you wouldn't believe it…" Harry said reluctantly. Hermione's eyes shot up.

"Harry, we now live in a world where magic exists, dragons really breathe fire, a Dark Lord is trying to kill us all and we travelled in time. I think I can pretty much believe anything." She paused, staring at him. "I think you don't not trust us. You don't understand it yourself, I think. And you don't know how to explain. Or you don't want to." Harry hung his head.

"Ignoring it isn't going to make it go away, whatever it is, Harry." Ron said quietly.

"You wouldn't understand…" Harry tried.

"You won't know 'til you try us." Hermione said, looking straight into his eyes. He held her gaze, then turned and looked at an equally resolute Ron. He sighed, and ruffled a hand through his hair. Glancing around, his eyes alighted on a small group of first year girls, the last remnant beside them left in the Common Room. Seeing his gaze, Ron got up and walked over to them, spoke quietly for a few moments, and then returned, the first years packing away their equipment and heading to their dormitory. Harry sighed again at the now empty room, and faced his friends.

"You really aren't going to believe this…"

FireOpal, who wishes people would visit her LiveJournal and talk to her! And wants to know your opinion of her new extreme use of breaking lines.

**Review Responses.**

**Miss Lesley – **Feel free to ask questions, by all means! I might not answer them, as I don't want to give away the plot, but I'll try grins

1) **Why would udmbledork allow Harry to distrub a class reguardless if the teacher can teach. harry might think she is bad, but she does deserve respect and I am supprised that Gryffindorks are not in the minus point range.**  
_Dumbledore doesn't know for certain it's Harry in this, and D's always been lenient to Harry. OK, not this much, but Harry's had a hard year, D's got a lot on his mind… Um, I just like the interaction? Bad excuse, but I planned it that it isn't always Harry, we just see the classes he's in. There is practically a school riot when Turner's in the room._

2) **Both Harry and Snape got letters from flakes and they still have not opened them. Since they were both called out of class and the pheonix delievered them and considering who got the letters I am sure Snape atleast would have opened his already. Also so would have Harry. It seems that over a wek has gone by and harry has not read it, nor has ron and hermione presured him about the meeting.  
**_I never said that Snape didn't read the letter. And Harry, as explained in this chapter, viewed it rather apathetically. I myself have done something similar (it wasn't delivered by a phoenix during a Potions lesson, but hey!). Ron and Mione assumed the meeting was Voldemort-centric, and try not to press Harry for details if he doesn't want to give them._

3)** Has Harry gotten any books from the library on how to protect his mind? Why has he not improved and surely Snape has learned from last year that this apporch will not work?**_  
I see it this way – Legillimency is a fine art, practised by few. Therefore, any books in Hogwarts library would be of little help. He has not improved from last year, because Snape is not truly teaching him, but is attacking his mind and expecting a defence. Harry cannot construct a defence, and therefore he is not improving. Snape is just being a crotchety git (pardon my language), and is in a snit about something._

Hope that answers your questions! Here's some more, as promised. Any other questions, things you want clarification on, I'll try to answer, within reason.

**enchantress of the dark** – I love mischievous Harry, I think it fits his personality, especially as he is now growing up and is more sure of himself. Plus the teacher is a pillock. 

**rosiegirl – **the letter is now read! I would say 'Bet you weren't expecting that one', but it is probably rather clichéd, and I did advertise Severitus in the summary. Damn.

**EbonyBeach** – Woohoo! Go us! 'Intertwined' will live forever! Um, yes. ahem Glad you like it buddy. If you like it, I'm obviously doing something right!


	4. Decisions

**Disclaimer**: - Nil desperandum, HP fans, it's still not mine. sigh No true canon slash sigh 

**FireOpal's Comments:- **Short but sweet, late but continuing, here is chapter four. Please people, don't hassle me on my crappy schedule – I know I should post more often, but this term (my first in 5th year) is rather stressful and I literally haven't had time to write this. This is brought to you by my slash-addicted friend Katy (smokey2307, she's amazing), who insisted every lesson (and I mean **every**) that I write more of this. This is for you, and all my readers.

* * *

**Chapter 4 Decisions.**

"You really aren't going to believe this…" Harry said lamely, walking up to the roaring fireplace and leaning an arm on the mantelpiece, his eyes caught by the sudden beauty of the flickering flames. He sighed deeply, closing his eyes briefly as Ron and Hermione waited patiently. By now they knew Harry enough that if they waited and let him lead the conversation himself, things would definitely go better. He turned back to them suddenly, his green eyes reflecting the firelight, and casting strange shadows on his face.

"My father-" he paused. "I mean," He stared into the flames again. "My father isn't James Potter. I'm not really Harry James Potter. My father, my father is Snape."

There was a long, tense silence. Somehow, admitting it out loud was worse, allowing the festering thoughts in his head to take the reins and engulf him. As neither of his best friends moved or spoke, he was suddenly overwhelmed by panic. What if they didn't trust him? What if they decided they didn't like him, couldn't be friends with a Snape? Irrational as these thoughts were, they nonetheless echoed in his mind.

Hermione, for her part, was quiet and contemplative. As usual when faced with a problem and given the answer, the clues slotted into place perfectly – the height difference, the apparent difference in character, Harry's uncommon mood. And, being an intelligent witch, she knew that Harry wasn't a different person now than he was a minute ago.

Glancing across at Ron, she was temporarily relieved to see that he hadn't spoken. She loved her boyfriend dearly, but he did have a tendency to open his mouth and say the first thing that came into his head. He had paled worryingly though. After looking between the two boys, one of whom looked shocked and stunned, and the other who looked sick and depressed, she sighed mentally and realised it was yet again up to her to say something.

"OK, Harry." She said quietly, looking at him. "I believe you. When did you find out?" Harry swallowed.

"Yesterday. I mean, I got the letter when McGonagle pulled me out of class, but I only found out last night."

"Snape's – _son?_" Ron had finally pulled out of his semi-comatose state. The other two looked at him, Hermione biting her lip, Harry worried.

"Yeah." The emerald-eyed wizard looked down at his suddenly fascinating hands.

"Right." Ron said shortly, swallowing. "Wow, that's, that's…"

"Yeah." Harry said, before he could finish.

"So, what now?" Hermione put in, hoping to steer the conversation away from dangerous waters.

"I dunno," Harry said, running a hand through his hair. It was slightly longer than usual, and he frowned.

"Well, what did Dumbledore say?" Hermione pushed.

"Um, well, I dunno." Harry flushed. "I didn't exactly stick around long enough to find out."

"Come on, Hermione. It must've been quite a, a shock." Ron said, still semi-dazed.

"You think." Harry replied, wryly.

"Well," she retorted, matter-of-factly, "Don't you think it would be a good idea to find out?"

"I-I can't."

"We'll go with you of course," Hermione continued blithely, watching as Harry's face fell, resigned.

"Fine."

Hermione stood, dragging the dejected boy up with her and walked out of the common room, Ron following.

* * *

"Ah, Harry. Good to see you. And Mr Weasley and Miss Granger. Tea?" the amiable headmaster greeted them pleasantly. Hermione took the proffered cup and sat down primly one of three chairs, Harry in the middle, and Ron flanking. Ron took a sherbet lemon, but Harry politely deferred.

"Now, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Harry told us, sir." Hermione said, after taking a sip.

"Ah." Dumbledore said seriously. "And I presume you brought him up here?" Hermione flushed.

"Er, yes sir."

"Well then, let's get this over with. Harry, you remember our last meeting?"

"Yes." Harry muttered.

"Unfortunately, we cannot have Professor Snape with us tonight as he is overseeing a detention," Harry's heart lifted slightly. "But we will have to make do. Now, as a result of the charm your mother used on you to control your appearance, it appears you have been changing recently – is this true?"

"Yes."

"This means that the charm will be wearing off. Now, we have several options. One, we take off the charm completely, which we could then reapply or not as the case may be. Or, we could wait for it to spin out, and hope nobody notices the differences. Your father and James are remarkably similar in general appearance – both had black hair, for instance and other attributes could be contributed to your mother. It is quite possible that after the charm wears off, you will not need glasses either, as they are a part of James."

Harry nodded hollowly.

"I think I'd prefer to leave the charm on, sir." Dumbledore nodded slowly.

"Very well then, we shall between us have to keep an eye on your appearance. I'm sure someone would notice, if, for instance, your hair grew overnight." He smiled at the three, and they nodded. "Now Harry, as this new information has come to light, I think it might be an idea if you were to become better acquainted with your father."

"Uh, sir," Harry said quickly. "I don't think that's really necessary…"

"Nonsense!" Dumbledore responded, eyes twinkling. "I have arranged for you two to meet in his quarters once a week. I know in the past you have had your differences, but a family is a wonderful thing to have, and it is better united than divided."

"Yes sir." Harry muttered reluctantly, feeling the world being tugged from under his feet yet again.

"Excellent. I have arranged for you to meet every Thursday in Professor Snape's quarters at 7pm. If you could come here tomorrow at that time, I will have him escort you down to the dungeons and discuss passwords and so on." Harry nodded glumly, replacing his cold cup of tea onto the desk. "Bye Harry, Miss Granger, Mister Weasley."

* * *

Another Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson brought another session in which everyone sat around and did nothing. Having still not got accustomed to the news and his current situation, Harry was in no mood to disrupt the teacher as usual, and just sat with his head on the desk, staring into space. Hermione and Ron were now used to this behaviour, so they continued with their usual tasks – Hermione's now defensive zoo animals and Ron's 'Quidditch Lovers' Handbook'.

Malfoy glanced at the Trio for a moment, the slightest hint of a frown creasing his forehead. Then he looked around at Turner, who was walking nervously towards them. Suddenly deciding the need for a distraction, he raised his hand elegantly. This startled the young professor, and she quickly changed direction, and put on a vaguely intelligent expression.

"Yes, Mr Malfoy?"

"Um…" said Draco, slightly unprepared. Quickly casting his mind to the brief notes on the board, inspiration hit:

"Isn't the common Hartkes found in Ireland, not the Isle of Man? That's why they are hunted nearly to extinction by Leprechauns."

"Well," Turner replied uncertainly, "Leprechauns probably live in several of the smaller islands, not just Ireland."

"But leprechauns don't live in the Isle of Man." Malfoy pointed out. "The hippogriffs would eat them."

"Yes, well," Turner faltered. "Just copy it down, it's in the syllabus." She stalked off, trying to cover her own lack of knowledge. Draco stared after her for a long moment in partial disbelief, then smirked. If he had still been in contact with Lucius, the stupid woman would've been ousted long ago. Apart from the fact that she was degrading their defence skills, of which the Dark Lord would approve, Draco mused to himself.

Quickly glancing over at the undisturbed trio, he mentally sighed with relief. If he was right, and he knew he was, Harry could do without the distraction of a particular no-brained teacher right now. Blocking out the sounds of Turner's babble, he turned to his sketch with a critical eye, adding a few more lines of shading, before packing up ready to leave for Charms.

* * *

At five minutes to 7 that Thursday evening, a rather uncomfortable-looking Harry stood in full-uniform outside the door to Professor Snape's office. His robes and shoes were as neat as he could make them, and his hair was as flat as his repeated movements could press it, in an attempt to look half-way decent. It was bad enough, the list of insults and scathing remarks the acerbic man could come up with without creating more reasons.

Finally, realising that arriving late would not make him any more appealing, he raised his hand and knocked on the door, the sound surprisingly strong and confident, despite his shaking hands. Wishing his collar was a little looser, he swallowed when the call came.

"Enter!" He opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him almost reluctantly, and glancing around the room. Snape was sat behind his desk, as if trying to raise a barrier between himself and his son, with a blank but tight expression. "Ah, Potter. Sit down."

"Yes sir." Harry replied quickly, sitting down on the proffered chair. Snape coughed.

"This, news," he said, with a lingering distaste on the last word, "has come as an obvious shock to the both of us. The headmaster," he expressed not much less distaste with this word either, to Harry's vague surprise, "has expressed a desire that we get to know one another. However, I personally see no need for this, but, as you are required to come down here every week, I shall have to endure."

Harry flushed slightly, but didn't speak. Snape continued as if he hadn't noticed.

"I would suggest that you bring your homework down with you, so that at least something productive can be done with this time."

"Yes sir." Harry parroted, one hand nervously pulling at his cuff. Snape's eyebrow rose at his reply, and he nodded.

"The headmaster has also enforced certain, procedures that require me to be, to some extent, polite to you. This is unfortunate, but I see no reason why our manner should change outside this room. Now, as I see you have no bag with you, we shall have to find some other form of entertainment for this evening. The headmaster suggested," his tone implied that it was hardly suggested at all, "that we spend a minimum of two hours a week together. This takes us to curfew at nine, so I shall be required to escort you to your Tower. There are a series of potions textbooks on that desk in the corner, you will amuse yourself reading those." Harry privately felt that he would have more fun scrapping dead flies out of old potions bottles, but, in respect of his hated teacher's restraint, said nothing. Instead, he nodded, and collected the three tomes, opening the first, distressingly titled 'Potions Ingredients Preparations for Advanced Practitioners'. It was older and mustier than any of the textbooks he had ever used before, and that coupled with the close proximity of his professor (his mind still refused to accept Snape as a parent) and the tense silence, made him more than just a little uncomfortable.

It was with extreme relief for the two of them then when the clock on the wall chimed nine, and Harry could close the second book he was almost asleep over. Snape put down his pile of marking and stood, taking the three books off of him and leading him out of the office. The trip up to the tower was as tense as the past two hours, as both parties were restraining from irritating the other for fear of wrath from a higher source. Luckily, they met no-one else on the journey, and Harry looked upon the portrait of the Fat Lady with gratitude.

"You're out late, young Harry," the portrait started genially, before she noticed the dark professor, and immediately looked contrite. "Oh, sorry Professor, I didn't see you there." Snape nodded almost uncertainly, and turned to Harry.

"I will see you in Potions." He said shortly, before stalking off, leaving Harry alone in the corridor.

"Password, Harry?" she asked, drawing his attention. Harry turned to her.

"Oh, sorry. Swordfish." He replied distractedly, moving forwards as she swung aside, and into the nearly empty common room. Ron and Hermione had obviously stayed up to wait for him, and the brunette had presumably tried to force large amounts of work on the red head, judging by the papers strewn everywhere.

He grinned tiredly at the pair as he approached, and they smiled in return, Hermione looking faintly concerned.

"Are you alright? How did it go?"

"Yeah," Ron added, "Did the Greasy Git torment you all evening?"

"No, actually," Harry replied with a yawn. "It was bizarre, and really boring. I think I'll go to bed, I'm exhausted."

"Yeah, we should be going too." Ron said quickly, slamming his textbook shut and gathering up his notes to his girlfriends' frown. "Really tiring day." He fake-yawned. Turning to Hermione, he kissed her gently on the cheek. "Night love."

"Night Ron, night Harry." Hermione said, picking up another of her mounds of paper, obviously intending to stay up a while longer.

"Night Mione." Harry said, and the two boys made their way up the staircase and into the dorms, leaving Hermione to work alone by the firelight.

* * *

In his quarters, Snape was interrupted from a relaxing glass of white wine by a polite knock on his door. Sighing, he stood and moved in front of the lit fireplace, calling over his shoulder.

"Enter." To his faint surprise, it wasn't the elderly headmaster, but another familiar figure in his living quarters. Dressed smartly even at this late hour, Draco Malfoy walked in and settled himself on the soft brown couch.

"I have news." He said, relaxing into the furniture. "Nott has expanded his plotting to include Crabbe and Goyle, no doubt under my father's instructions. He seems to have them under his complete control, which, to be honest, isn't exactly hard. However, this means that Lucius has informed others of my defection."

"A tricky situation indeed." Snape replied, taking a sip of the liquid. "However, I am not sure if there is anything we can do as of yet. Is that all? I have had a long day and I'm rather tired." Draco scrutinized him carefully.

"There's something bothering you." He said. Snape shot him a sharp look.

"What do you mean?"

"I can tell by your expression. You are my godfather – I have known you a long time."

"I am perfectly fine, thank you Draco." He softened slightly. "Look, I'll talk to you more tomorrow. Just not tonight, alright?"

"Very well." Draco replied, standing. "Goodnight Severus."

"Goodnight Draco." Snape replied wearily, draining his glass as the blonde left the room.

* * *

**Review Responses.**

**EbonyBeach – **Lol, you don't even read HP fanfiction, and yet you're reading this! Oh well, love you dude. We need to write more Intertwined! Fantastic!

shikyo66613 – Thank you so much, this was a pleasure to read. You highlighted bits you enjoyed and without spending 5 pages! (not that I mind -). Hint to all you guys, take a few tips! 

**Rosiegirl – **Sorry for the wait! This will continue for a tad longer I'm afraid… -, Hope you like this one.

3 reviews? Thank you my friends, but looking between my HP stories and my DW stories, I see my DW fans review much more readily… Come on chaps, show me what you're made of! One of my stories is the same length as this and has 60 reviews! I'm pleased, but could you make a teensy effort? Please?

Thanks!


	5. Reprisals

**Disclaimer**: - If it was mine, I'd be living in fear, due to update schedule.  
**FireOpal's Comments:- **Brought to you, once more, by Katy the Unstoppable. You do not know the meaning of the word 'annoying' if you haven't met her. - After months of happy DWness and unhappy GCSE revision (don't get me started on Catullus!), I bring you this small Christmas offering. Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and hopefully more soon!

* * *

**Chapter 5 – Reprisals**

A week passed until Harry had to return to Snape's office, with a sinking dread born of remembrances of the last experience. Hardly the most enthralling meeting he had ever attended, he just hoped vainly that it would be a repetition of last Thursday – devoid of the usual Snape-trappings (cutting insults, scathing remarks, and sneering point-taking as standard).

The week had been uneventful. The usual Ron-Hermione bickering had returned, now with the added teasing and frankly sickening comments of two people in love. Thankfully, they had kept the sweet nothings to outside of Harry's hearing (usually), but the rest of Gryffindor was already wondering whether this was in fact better or worse than before.

Turner had been rather dampened by the rumours of her investigation, and had resorted to making them revise independently on topics they were finding difficult. So, of course, the lesson went by without a single word being written or official spell being cast Apart from Hermione's small zoo and now added no-water aquarium.

Other than that, nothing had happened. Life was as close to normal as it ever got in Hogwarts, apart from the Snape-being-his-father fact that he was trying desperately to put out of his mind. It was working rather well, and thankfully Ron and Hermione were too wrapped up in each other to notice his usual pressing-things-down-deep method in practice.

So he approached the familiar office door, trying to persuade himself that it was just like an ordinary detention. Just any other detention.

He knocked.

"Enter!"

Walking into the room, he carefully lowered his bag next to his private desk, feeling awkward.

"There are two further textbooks for you to peruse." Snape said shortly. Harry nodded. He sat in the proffered chair and pulled the tomes towards him. Fantastic.

Opening the dully titled '_How to Refine Your Herbal Potions Techniques With Biological Theory_', Harry resigned himself to another evening of complete and utter boredom.

The scratch of a quill. A page turned. Soft breathing. Another page turned. The quill scratched forcefully, followed by a series of small scratches. Obviously, thought Harry, someone was going to find their a essay once more punctuated by blistering comments. He hoped it wasn't him.

Another page turned. The quill moved on.

So it continued, until a sudden knock on the door made both of the uneasy duo jump. His heart racing, Harry turned his head as Snape called out irritably.

"Enter!"

The door opened to reveal none other than Albus Percival Wilforic 'Too-Many-Names-To-Remember' Dumbledore, resplendent as usual in fluorescent blue robes. Harry wondered briefly if he had yet more bad news to dump on him as the headmaster helped himself in and sat himself easily in the desk chair.

"Headmaster." It wasn't a question, exactly, but the raised eyebrow and tone implied 'What in the name of Merlin are you doing here, and will you kindly leave?'

"Severus. Good to see you again." Dumbledore smiled. "I hope you don't mind if I help myself to tea?"

Snape shook his head. Harry winced as the greasy locks moved a little.

"Harry? Tea?" the headmaster continued, turning to him. Uncertain, Harry nodded, and waited as his tea was conjured, hot, piping and milky as he liked it.

"Severus?" Predictably, the Potions Master declined. Harry took his proffered cup and set it carefully next to the dull volume, making sure not to spill any on its pages, as he was sure that Snape wouldn't be happy.

"Was there something you wished to discuss, Headmaster?"

"Actually," the jovial old man started, "there was." He cleared his throat meaningfully, glanced across at Harry and dug a sherbet lemon out of his pocket.

"And?" Snape was quickly becoming irritated.

"And I was hoping that a little visit down here would help matters." The man continued smoothly. He glanced across again at Harry noted the bag and collection of dusty books, and then across at the diminishing pile of marking next to his Potions Master. He sighed.

"Obviously I was not clear in my intentions for these little meetings. Let me elucidate. These were intended to be a chance for the two of you to become properly acquainted. Not," he glanced back at the books, "an opportunity to bore yourselves out of your skulls."

Snape, predictably, scowled.

"I believe that tutoring Po- _the boy_ is more important than some idle, stilted chat. If the prophecy is to be believed, then he has a lot of work before him that he clearly doesn't realise before he can defeat the Dark Lord."

"What?" Harry blurted, without thinking, staring at Snape in horror. "You know the prophecy?"

"Of course I do," Snape snapped. "Who do you think used it to save your life?"

"You?" Harry whispered, shocked. The very idea of Snape willingly saving his life was, _bizarre_. Unthinkable.

Outside of the discussion, Dumbledore smiled, just slightly.

"Of course. Did you think that there was another spy in the Dark Lord's Inner Circle? It is hardly a stroll in the park."

"I just, well…" Harry trailed off. "Thanks, I guess."

"I was only doing my job." The dark man replied curtly. Harry's expression fell minutely. As did Dumbledore's.

"I'm sure Lily didn't think that you were 'just doing your job'." Dumbledore remarked quietly, and Snape tensed.

"That is not under discussion."

"Harry has a right to know – about his mother, and his father."

"Then he should just ask his friends," Snape all but snarled. "I'm sure they have a pretty accurate picture of me by now."

"Severus!" Albus remarked sharply. "Be reasonable."

"'Be reasonable'? I think that I am being perfectly reasonable, in the circumstances."

"Harry is not James!" Dumbledore said, standing. "In fact, I think that the only reason you treat him as you do is because you see him as such! Harry has never been James' son, he doesn't have a drop of Potter blood in his body, even if he currently wears his face!"

Harry, by this point, was pale to say the least. But, with a sudden conviction and strength he hadn't felt before rising in him, he stood, attracting the feuding adults attention.

"The spell, it can be cancelled, right?" he said, his voice unsteady, the question directed at the older man. Dumbledore nodded.

"And it can be put back on?" he checked.

"I'm not sure – It should, unless some higher magic corrupts it." The headmaster replied, a sudden suspicion creeping in him.

"Then take it off."

"Is that entirely wise-" Snape butted in, half-glaring at Harry, who endured the look with practise.

"If you want, Harry." Dumbledore said over the top, turning to the teen. There was a smile lingering on his lips that reassured Harry that what he was doing was the right idea. "_Exigo praealtus incantatem!_" Dumbledore intoned, his wand raised to point to the centre of Harry's forehead. A beam of white light flowed out, spreading as it moved through the air to form a bubble about an inch over the teen's skin. Then, slowly, the white incandescence moved in, and Harry became a white beacon as the magic coursed through him.

It was like a breeze of warm air at first, then like falling into deep water. Barely aware that he was still stood, he lost control of his legs and fell heavily to the seemingly non-existent floor, unable to shake off the strange feeling. Then, with a burst of pain that felt dampened somehow, he felt his bones shift underneath his skin, and his muscles contort and elongate. Skin stretched over his growing form before it too moulded across him.

Then it was petering out – the light receding from him like water. He was on his knees, he noted, before opening his eyes. He hadn't even been aware of shutting them.

"Harry my boy?" Dumbledore asked quietly, kneeling beside him. Harry looked up into those familiar blue eyes, and suddenly found he had to sweep hair out of his eyes. Long, black hair. As he did so, he noticed a thin white hand – completely unfamiliar and yet seeming to move as he wanted it to. He squinted at it as he flexed the muscles, feeling slightly panicked at the extreme change.

"Harry, how do you feel?" Harry thought for a moment, then glanced back at the headmaster.

"OK, I think." With a start, he realised his voice was different – deeper and more refined somehow. His slightly muddled mind was trying to make him cough, as if that would change anything, but he knew it wouldn't, so he refrained.

"Up you get then," the headmaster said, standing up. Harry noted again that he was surprisingly agile for one so old, and as the hand gripped his elbow, he felt himself be lifted up.

And up. Apparently he had gained some stature as well. Everything seemed to have shrunk a little by his standards.

"So," he said in that strange voice, "how do I look?" He squinted at Dumbledore for a moment, then frowned, taking off his glasses. Suddenly, the world sprang into focus. This he could get used to, he thought with a momentary grin. 20/20 vision.

Glancing around the room, he suddenly spotted his father, who was stood behind his desk, his face pale and disbelieving. His hands were gripping the edge of the old wooden desk tightly, knuckles that he suddenly recognised as his going white with his grasp. Suddenly nervous, he turned back to the headmaster, who kindly conjured a tall mirror for him, and for the first time in his life, Harry gazed into his true reflection.

His first thought was that his clothes didn't fit him anymore, which, in consideration, was rather daft. His robes hung around his lower shin and his sleeves ended above his wrists. The only reason the clothes weren't hopelessly tight around him was his frame – thin and lean, almost wraithlike. Whereas before he had been skinny, turning muscular by Quidditch practice, he was now lean, with thin arms and legs.

His face. Wow, his face. He could only stare in disbelief – with startlingly well-known emerald eyes – at the face that wasn't his own, with his eyes, and his expression.

High cheekbones, yet chiselled enough to be masculine, and with a cool elegance Harry had never managed. His nose was presumably either his mother's or Snape's, before he had broken it, as it was reasonably straight. His lips were thinner slightly, but not overly thin. Running a hand through his jaw length raven hair, he spotted the thin jagged line of his scar cut into his forehead. Not entirely different then.

It was strange to say the least – looking at a picture in the mirror, and watching the apparition poke itself as you felt the impact.

When he looked up at the headmaster, he saw uncompromising acceptance in that steady gaze, and it grounded him.

"Not too bad, I guess." He joked lightly. Although, unfortunately, you could tell he was Snape's son, he seemed to have acquired the less unpleasant aspects of Snape. Thank Merlin.

"You seem to have acquired more of Lily's looks – the charm must have been hiding them in order to keep up the disguise." Dumbledore remarked, shooting a glance towards Snape. He still hadn't moved.

Harry felt like an exhibit in a museum, with both of the adults looking at him. His eyes seemed drawn to the mirror, but he wanted to know what Snape was going to say, so he dragged himself away.

"Indeed." The Potions Master replied edgily. Dumbledore sighed again.

"Now, this is how these meetings will be organised. Harry will come down here as he has been doing, but this time, you will meet in Severus' quarters. Understood?"

They nodded.

"I shall adjust the wards around your quarters Severus, if you don't mind," _and if you do_, they both heard, "I have no wish for Harry to go down there and never return. You will talk, civilly, for the entire time. Understood?"

They nodded again, though on Snape's part, it was rather reluctantly. Harry was beginning to feel like a naughty primary school child. "I should hope you won't have any further, ahem, identity issues."

Severus' cheekbones flushed. He scowled.

"Now, I think," the headmaster checked a complicated pocket watch, "that you have at least another hour. The corridors should be empty at this time of night, so there is no danger of you being seen." Dumbledore made for the door, before pausing, and turning back to glance at the pair over his spectacles.

"Do try this time, won't you?"

In the silence that followed the exit of the most powerful wizard since Merlin, Harry pondered briefly if he would ever live a life that wasn't dictated by at least three other people. Probably not.

"Well, we must do as the headmaster decrees." Snape said shortly, and Harry nodded, picking up his satchel. "You will follow me, and not speak a word. Should anyone come across us, you are to disguise yourself. In the event of you being seen, you will pose as a worker from the Hogsmeade apothecary. Understood?"

Harry nodded. Snape, looking slightly mollified, replaced the lid on his inkpot and swept out of the door, leaving his marking covering the desk. However, Harry noticed, he did lock the door thoroughly behind him, so perhaps tidying was unnecessary.

He followed the Potions Master as he stalked down the corridors, marvelling at the way his higher stature made it so that he no longer had to jog to keep up. Useful. Harry tried to keep record of where they were, but, several floors further down into the dungeons, they were no longer in the main part of school. He had only been here once before, and that had been four years ago, when he and Ron had broken into the Slytherin Common Room.

Much, much further than that, they rounded a bend into, well, quite frankly, a damp, musty dead end, where a rather drab painting hung on the wall. The corners held cobwebs, and spiders scuttled out of the light of Snape's wand as he approached, illuminating his wand tip to see better. The painting was hardly up to Hogwarts' usual standard – a simple, slight dingy seascape with what could have been an impressive cliff-face rising out of a thundery-dark sea, if the artist had been bothered. Forked lightning would have crashed down with the force of the gods, wreaking havoc on the tiny storm-torn world below, tearing aside the sky in its vehemence, if the creator had not decided half-way through that he was too bored to continue, and had much more important things to be doing.

Harry's eyebrow rose, but he said nothing (this was Snape, after all); just watched as the other man glanced over the familiar painting, tapped his wand against the bottom right corner and whispered what appeared to be a password.

"_Indolentia_."

Immediately, he stepped back as the painting suddenly shifted –the lightning forking the sky haphazardly and the sea lurching into life. Then, with a light grinding noise of stone on stone, the wall swung open to reveal Snape's private quarters.

The Potions Master stalked in, gesturing irritably for Harry to follow quickly. Then he turned, gestured strangely, and the door closed, leaving Harry to turn to face the normal-seeming wooden door in the wall.

"These are my private quarters. I have the strongest wards in the entire castle – nothing comes in or goes out without my leave. When you are here, you will abide by my rules. It goes without saying that these quarters are not open to your friends, and if I hear any strange rumours going around, then I shall know where they come from. Have I made myself clear?"

Cowed, Harry nodded.

"You will not eat or drink down here unless necessary. You will not cause a mess. You will not pry in my personal belongings. You are, under no circumstances whatsoever, to enter my bedroom. Is that clear?"

Again, Harry nodded. Snape looked slightly satisfied. "Sit."

Harry sat on the proffered sofa, and glanced around. Snape moved across the room to sit imperiously in a large leather armchair, watching with hooded eyes as his newfound son glanced around his father's rooms.

They were hardly luxurious, but they seemed pleasant enough – and rather more human than the entire school populous had ever imagined. Apart from the leather armchair, there was the usual stone fireplace, in front of which lay a thin navy blue rug, simply patterned. The sofa was obviously in a set with the armchair, but looked slightly more worn in places, suggesting its use as a temporary bed at some point.

There were few paintings on the wall – a currently occupied portrait of a wizard Harry vaguely recognised from Dumbledore's office, and another simple landscape , this time of a mountainous, wooded area in late summer.

Apart from where they came in, there were four other doors. One, Harry assumed, was Snape's bedroom, one a bathroom, a kitchen, and the other Snape's infamous private lab and study. Other than that, the rooms looked as though they were barely used – all except for the liquor cabinet (directly next to the potions cabinet), and a tall bookshelf.

"Now, we are to discuss matters." Snape started uncomfortably. "Speak."

"Um," Harry replied, biting his lip. There was no way on earth or in heaven he would sit here and discuss his life. No. Way. "What do you want me to say?"

"How am I supposed to know?" the older man snapped irritably, "When the headmaster gives orders, those orders must be obeyed."

"I know the feeling," Harry muttered, and for a second, he could've sworn he saw a sliver of a smirk on those imposing features.

"Perhaps we should discuss your lessons," Severus said eventually, after they had sat in tense silence for some minutes.

Harry shrugged. "Um, I had double Defence, Charms and Care of Magical Creatures today." He ventured, and Snape nodded.

"And you have those with," he thought quickly, "Professor Turner, Professor Flitwick and Hagrid?"

Harry nodded, though he slightly resented the lack of title before Hagrid's name.

"What did you learn in Defence?"

"We're studying minor magical creatures in the British Isles, " he replied, startling Severus slightly with his confidence and depth of reply. He raised an eyebrow. After the current problems with Turner (now reporting throughout the school, as teachers came forward), he had anticipated for the boy to be behind like the rest of them – spending his time messing around and causing trouble. Perhaps there _was_ more to the boy than he had previously thought…

Suddenly, their conversation was interrupted by a familiar knock on the door. Pushing back a sliver of disappointment, Severus stood quickly, and gestured for Harry to be quiet. Puzzled but complying, Harry didn't make a noise even as he was bundled into another room (the study he found out quickly), and shut in with hissed orders to not come out. Fortunately, the door was left slightly ajar, so Harry, with years of sneaky dealings, moved forwards so that he could see through the small crack, and waited.


	6. The Unravelling of a Mystery

**muffinsnail - **Thank you for the French-beta, I did try and get one off of my friend, but we bow down to your superior knowledge. My own French, despite a pass at GCSE is really quite bad, but it's better than my Spanish or Italian (nonexistant). Apologies to the hoard who got annoyed with me on this topic, but it is now changed.

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**Chapter 6 – The Unravelling of a Mystery**

After Harry was safely ensconced in the study, Severus grabbed a glass and dashed some liquid into it, before taking a sip and placing it on the table. Then he spotted Harry's bag, and with a swish of his wand, banished it to the study. Harry jumped as it appeared behind him. Then, apparently satisfied (as far as the young teen could tell from his small vantage point), he walked to the door and opened it forcefully. Snape relaxed minutely, but Harry's view was blocked by the edge of the door and the older wizards' back.

When he could finally see the guest, Harry felt ice run down his back. Draco Malfoy, uniform pristine despite the late hour, walked in, taking a seat opposite Snape's armchair.

The older man didn't even glance towards the study, as he picked up his glass once more and moved towards the cold fireplace.

"Draco, is this important?"

The teen looked up. "Yes. It is actually. Why – did I interrupt something?"

"No," Severus lied calmly, taking his drink. "However, it is not wise for you to be down here too often."

Draco snorted. "And it's safer to be in the common room? Yeah, I know the rules. But this you need to hear."

Severus gestured for him to continue, glancing with hooded eyes to where Harry was hidden for a split second, before turning back to Draco, disguising the move easily by shifting his posture.

"There's been some talk recently in the dorms – not much, and nothing important. A little bit of Dark propaganda, the usual."

He grinned, "You'd have thought they wouldn't be stupid enough to talk about it really. The real Slytherins are us who keep our heads down and work against it.

"But just today Nott and his cronies were gathered in the common room – some sort of meeting. Luckily I had one of these," he dug a familiar flesh-coloured piece of string from his pocket, "and heard enough. There's going to be an attack, in Diagon Alley. Word is the Dark Lord wants some select Slytherins to work here, so that Dumbledore and the Order don't get involved."

Harry sat, frozen with shock. He couldn't believe his ears – Draco Malfoy, **the** Draco Malfoy, was working for the light? Draco Malfoy was a spy? Forcing down his own thoughts, he quickly retuned his mind to memorising as much of the conversation as possible.

"Interesting," Severus replied thoughtfully. "I shall inform the headmaster. You will need to keep up the work as usual."

"Of course," the blond replied easily. Then, equally casually, "Why is your son hiding in the study listening to every word I say?"

There was a moment of silence. Harry scuttled away from the door. He'd been seen? He pushed himself into the shadows and tried to find a way out.

In the other room, Severus' eyebrows rose, his eyes cool and calculating.

"And why would you say that?"

"I know he's there - I can feel him," Draco replied cryptically. Severus froze, his eyes widening minutely. He glanced sharply at the blond.

"He's…?" he said in a low voice. Draco nodded.

"Now, I asked a question," the teen replied, standing and walking across to the study. Panicking rather more now, Harry searched the shadowed, book-filled room frantically for somewhere to hide just as the door swung open, leaving him facing his rival.

"Well," Draco continued eventually, his pale face almost – friendly? "It's quite a change. Do join us Potter, or Snape, or whatever you're called now."

Dumbly, Harry did as he was told. He walked slowly into the other room, one hand instinctively going to his wand in his pocket, and keeping a good distance away from the other teen. He perched uneasily on the edge of the sofa. What in Merlin's name was going on?

"So, this is fun," Draco started lightly, a glint in his eye Harry hadn't seen before except when they'd had one of their more memorable fights. He glanced between father and son, unable to keep the small smile that lingered from his lips.

"How do you know who I am?" Harry asked guardedly. Looking vaguely surprised that the green-eyed teen had spoken first, Draco replied, almost politely. It was almost surreal.

"Easy. I'm a Slytherin, remember?"

'I'm sure there's more to it than that,' Harry thought quickly, opening his mouth to voice it. He was interrupted by another voice before he could however.

"What are you going to do?"

Draco laughed slightly.

"Well I'm hardly going to hand him over to Voldemort, am I Sev? And who would believe me – Harry Potter is Snape's son?"

Harry barely even flinched this time, but Draco noted it quickly anyway, his sharp eyes noting the fleeting expression and filing it away for thinking later.

"And other than that, how else could this information be played to my advantage?"

"Indeed," Severus remarked, still seeming to be cool with his house student.

"So we're supposed to just trust you with this?" Harry asked, glancing between the two people he was supposed to hate.

"Well, short of Obliviating me, which I would object to, yes, I guess you will," Draco replied, trying to gauge his reaction.

"And you're on our side?"

"Yes," he replied simply, showing through his clear grey eyes his openhearted honesty. Harry couldn't bring himself to even doubt the other teen at that moment – everything felt right after being wrong for too long. Part of his mind, however (sounding vaguely like Ron), was also screaming at him a list of all the things he had done, all the things that had happened.

It was all a bit much for one night – he could feel a rather nasty headache uncurling in his mind, bringing with it promises of thumping agony and a restless night. Covering a wince, Harry glanced at Snape.

"I have some homework sir, can I go to my common room?"

"You'll have to see the headmaster first – otherwise everyone will wonder who this new Gryffindor is," the dark wizard remarked dryly. Harry flushed and nodded sheepishly.

Standing, opened a small black box Harry hadn't yet noticed on his mantelpiece. He took a pinch of the powder and threw it into the flames, calling the headmaster's name.

Stepping out, the elderly wizard glanced around, and noted Draco's presence calmly.

"Harry wishes to return to the Tower," Snape said evenly, and Dumbledore turned to Harry.

"What a good idea. We don't want you missing homework because of these meetings," the headmaster agreed thoughtfully. "Lets see…"

"_Instauro praealtus incantatem!"_

With the sickening feeling of shrinking, his bones remoulding and muscles contorting, Harry felt his old body return. It was strange – he must've only been in it for half an hour to an hour, and yet that body seemed much more natural than the familiar 'James Potter' clone he was now. Noticing the way the world had turned foggy, he dug his glasses out of his pocket and slipped them on, the world coming into focus with a jump.

"All done?" the headmaster asked. Harry nodded.

"Right then. I'll see you to the Entrance Hall Harry, if Severus, you could stay here with Draco. I'm sure there are things you wish to discuss."

Harry was even more puzzled by this, but the headache seemed to be spurred on by the change, and it was fast approaching migraine status. Silently, he followed the elderly wizard, bidding him goodnight at the foot of the stairs, and making his way up on his own. It must've been after curfew, but he didn't meet anyone.

Wondering briefly if only Snape and Filch bothered to patrol the corridors at night, he slipped into the empty common room, and up to the dorms. Deciding to do his homework tomorrow when he wouldn't have a headache, he collapsed into bed, before realising with a quiet groan that his pain-relieving potions were across the room.

He felt too achy to move – and his bones seemed suddenly to be made of lead, but nonetheless, he stretched out his wand hand and summoned one across, downing it quickly. It didn't seem to do a lot of good, but he dropped it to the floor, and closed his eyes, still fully clothed.

Eventually, he fell asleep.

"What?!" Ron exclaimed the next morning as the three walked into Charms. "Malfoy was there?"

"Sh!" Harry said hastily, digging him in the ribs with his elbow. "He's on our side – I told you, remember?"

"Malfoy, on our side?" Hermione said with some suspicion.

"Yes. He said so, so did Snape and Dumbledore."

That satisfied Hermione a bit, but she still looked doubtful. Harry didn't blame her, but his continuing headache was shortening his already snappy temper. It bothered him that it still seemed to be hanging around from last night, but with all the strange events going on, he brushed it aside as a nuisance and had explained most of the story over breakfast. Now he was getting the Hogwarts version of the Spanish Inquisition.

"And you believed him?" Ron asked disbelievingly.

"Yes, I did," he sighed. "You weren't there – he was telling the truth."

"Huh, must be a first," the redhead muttered, before slinging his bag onto a desk next to Hermione.

"We shall be working with a partner today class!" Flitwick called from the front, and there was a sudden rush as people moved, desperate to be with their friends. Hermione and Ron looked unhappily at Harry, but he waved them off, smiling.

"No, you go together."

They watched as he walked to the back of the room, and, to their amazement (and the shock of the rest of the small class), stopped by the back table, where, habitually, sat Draco Malfoy.

"Can I sit here?" he asked, and the class went silent as the blond replied.

"Sure."

Moving his smart leather satchel out of the way, Harry dumped his bag by the side of the chair, sitting down. Ignoring their audience, they waited patiently for Flitwick to call the class to order. Which took some time, as the small gnome almost fell over when he saw the two together.

"Now, today chaps, we'll be studying the Language Charm – the incantation is _fecunde linguas._ Now, say it with me – _fecunde linguas!_"

"_Fecunde linguas!_" they chanted obediently, sounding more than a little bored.

"Well done! Now, who in here knows how this charm works?" The usual hand shot up. "Miss Granger?"

"It is a charm to grant the user the ability to speak a language fluently for fifteen minutes. The first language they hear besides their mother tongue after the incantation is the language they speak."

"Excellent – 10 points to Gryffindor! Quite excellent!" Flitwick enthused, unconcerned by the disturbingly familiar routine. "Now, who in here knows a second language?"

Four hands were raised, until Draco poked Harry in the torso and muttered to him.

"Parseltongue."

Harry flushed a little, but raised his own hand, flashing Draco a small, if wary smile.

"Excellent. And good, you're all in separate pairs. Now, is there any one in a pair without one of these people?"

Glancing around the room, nobody raised their hands – the group was happily small enough that they were able to start straight away.

After seeing Ron and Hermione start the spell work near the front, Harry turned to Draco.

"I'm not here because I trust you," he started in a low tone, "but because I think I should try."

Draco smiled for a second, before the mask fell back, and they started. Harry went first, pointing his wand towards himself and saying the words.

"_Fecunde linguas._"

Taking his cue, Draco smirked, and started to speak. "Ah, Harry – parlez-vous le français?" **Ah Harry – do you speak French?**

"Oui," Harry replied, the words moving from English in his head, to French on his tongue. "Je parle le français. Il est trés bien!" **Yes. I speak French. It's very good!**

"Tu m'énerve," Draco replied easily, earning a small scowl from Harry. **You are very annoying.**

"Et vous? Tu m'énerve aussi!" **And you? You are very annoying as well!**

"Oui, mais pas autant que toi." Draco smirked. **Yes, but not as much as you.**

"_Finite incantatem,_" Harry said, ending the spell. "Your turn."

"_Fecunde linguas._"

"_Ssayeth crassiess syesster,_" Harry hissed, to the slight surprise of Draco. **Parseltongue beats frog-man. **It wasn't public knowledge after all that Harry had mastered his ability to speak parseltongue. Everyone had thought that he needed to see a snake in order to do it. Just one of the many things he didn't know about Harry.

"_Syesster?" _Draco replied, wondering why the word 'French' translated into 'frog-man'. "_Ssayeth estis lysusiath. Msas estis frasthes losuises._" **Parseltongue is not what is natural (weird). But it is very like the sun on your scales (cool).**

"_Syeth." _Harry laughed, more like a hissing noise than real laughter. **Yes.** _"Usieth lla esties losuises ills._" **I think we are unnaturaling (scaring) them.**

Draco glanced around at the class, who were watching the conversation with interest and not a little fear. Draco snorted.

"_Thessi graths._" **Stop man-spell. **Draco incanted, grinning.

"Don't worry," Harry commented, switching back to English. "We won't bite."

Glancing across at the Slytherin, they both burst into laughter.

Catching up with his best friends after class, he waited until Hermione had finished writing down the homework (further study on the uses and drawbacks of the _fecunde linguas_ charm), before springing into the conversation.

"That was so cool!"

Noticing his best friend, Ron scowled. "What was all that about?"

Harry stopped, his grin falling. "What?"

"I said, 'what was all that about'? You and Malfoy acting like old pals," the redhead spat. Harry frowned.

"We were just practising the spell. Some of the things translate differently from parseltongue to English. Draco tried to say 'French', but it came out as 'frog-man'!"

Hermione smiled thoughtfully at this, her mind already racing to think it through. Ron went redder.

"Oh," he sniffed, "so we're calling him 'Draco' now, are we?"

Just then, right at that moment, Harry lost his temper.

"Yes! I am, Ron! Because he's on our side, and we're going to have to fight beside him, maybe even die beside him. And if he's willing to put it past him, then so am I. I haven't got time for silly little grudges!"

Ron was trying to control his own temper, but also reasoning with his friend. "Has he apologised? Has he said sorry for all the things he's done to us over the years? For calling Hermione a 'mudblood'? For all the comments about 'bad blood' and my family? And all the things he's said about your parents? You're just going to go along with him, after you heard, from his own mouth, that he's on our side."

"Yes!" Harry yelled back, "because have we apologised? What about all the things we've said and done over the years? And I trust him – Dumbledore trusts him, Snape trusts him-" Ron snorted.

Without even looking around to check that the room was empty, Harry lost his head. "If you hadn't noticed, Snape's my father now – you say bad things about him, and they reflect on me! And if you don't trust my judgement then at least be my friend enough to give me damn good reason!"

As they stood and glared at each other, Hermione standing to one side, her face pale, a calm voice came from behind them.

"You're right."

They all turned. It was Draco.

"I owe you an apology."

He turned to Hermione. "I'm sorry Granger – my only defence is that Lucius was desperate to bring me up to be a model Death Eater, and even when I shook that off, I had to keep up the pretence until I could leave. I know it's not enough, and you don't have to accept it, but I'm sorry," he paused.

"And you and Weasley, Harry. I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted," Harry said after a moment, hand outstretched, "if you'll accept mine. Sorry."

They shook hands, and both of them grinned inwardly at the memory of that time on the train in first year.

"I'm sorry too," Hermione piped up bravely, still ashen-white. She extended her own hand, and shook Draco's. "But don't call me Granger – Hermione will do."

"Right," Draco replied, glancing briefly at Ron, who was still glaring. The redhead glanced between his best friends for a moment, then left in a huff. Harry rolled his eyes, before wincing. Back again… The last headache had been ignored during the lessons' fun, and he had hoped to see the back of it, but apparently it was too good to be true.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, concerned as the teen raised his hand to remove his glasses and rub circles into the pressure. "Another headache?"

He nodded gently, and gladly took the proffered bottle.

"You OK, Potter?"

"Oh just call me Harry – you did before," Harry replied with a sigh, willing the potion to work. "And no – I've been having these headaches… Ruddy nuisance."

"Oh no!" Hermione exclaimed softly, glancing at her watch. "We're late for Defence. Harry, you've gone pale – do you want to go and lie down? We'll tell Professor Turner."

Harry snorted weakly. "As if she'll notice – and if she does, she'll be happy. Yeah, I think I will. See you later Hermione, Draco."

With that, he pulled his satchel off the desk and left, leaving the two behind.

Hermione coughed, slightly uncomfortably. "We'd better go."

"Yes – god forbid we appear late to Turner's splendid lessons," Draco replied sarcastically, and Hermione smiled, knowing, for once, it wasn't directed at her but at the teacher.

"Of course," she returned, and they walked to Defence, carefully avoiding mentioning anything that might raise an argument. Even House Elves.

Meanwhile, Harry was heading for the dorms. He'd made it to the common room without much fuss, but the ache in his head had spread to the rest of his body, and he had to resort to levitating his bag in front of him, to save the pain in his back. His shoulders were magnificently painful, and his eyelids were drooping already as he stumbled up the stairs. He was just able to fling his bag in a corner and peel off most of his outer clothes before crashing onto the bed, immediately asleep.

Ron and Hermione (the former still annoyed) came to find him before dinner, and were relieved slightly to see him sat up in bed, doing his homework. However, when Hermione lit her wand tip in the semi-darkness to read his essay, he winced and covered his eyes. Immediately extinguishing the light, Hermione moved closer to him, to feel his temperature.

"You're warm," she commented with a frown. "I'd say a slight fever, bad reaction to light, headaches, general pains… you're ill, Harry."

"I'm fine," he replied, scrubbing his eyes. "I'm just not used to the light – it must've got dark in here."

"Harry, you're sick," she insisted. "I think you should see Madam Pomfrey."

"No!" he replied quickly, "No, I'm fine, honest."

She didn't budge.

"If it gets worse, I'll go to her."

"At this rate, we'll be carrying you!" she protested vainly. Grinning weakly, he shooed them off his bed and told them he was going to get some sleep, snatching up his pyjamas as he did so.

"You not hungry, Harry?" Ron put in, his tone cool but concerned. "You'll miss dinner."

"I'll live. Besides, I don't think I could eat anything – I just feel too tired," Harry yawned.

The pair eventually left, Hermione insisting that he drink lots, which would apparently flush out the fever. He drank a glass of water from the jug on his table to please her, before changing clothes and sinking back down into the bed.

Thank god it was Saturday tomorrow.

In his empty dorm, Draco sat, cross-legged on his bed, his eyes closed. He needed this moment of meditation – pure quiet and calm from the rest of his hectic, dangerous life, and he treasured it. Breathing deeply, he forced out of his mind his thoughts of the day, his worries about Harry and what was going on, about the young Death Eaters that were already working against him and the school, and to think of nothing but peace.

Peace was fields, running through lush grass at night – bright constellations overhead. Peace was a river, cool and sweet to quench his thirst, and to calm his mind with its gentle babbling. Peace was the breath of the trees, and the cool beauty of the moon.

Some time later, Draco opened his eyes lethargically, got up, changed clothes, and went to bed, ready for the next day.


	7. Paradigms Shift and Circumstances Change

**Notes - **I'm sorry it's been a while, guys, but if you've been following this or others of my stories, then you know how appalling I am at updating. You might not believe me :D but this chapter has been sitting on my harddrive for ages - I'd forgotten to post it! So here it is, and as I'm past my exams and onto my holidays now, I'm hoping to get cracking with this again soon. I've just got to wrap a few things up then I'm going to force myself to apply some work to this, as I'm actually really excited about this plot and the characters.

Anyway, here's to you peeps and hope you like it.

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**Chapter 7 – Paradigms Shift and Circumstances Change**

Saturday dawned. Unfortunately, its beauty was masked in a blanket of murky grey cloud, which shed its load on the small castle below it, causing the lake to overfill, parts of the grounds to become swampy, and the lesser-maintained parts of the castle to be dripping with rainwater.

Harry was oblivious to this however, until Ron shook him roughly awake, concern shining in his brown eyes.

"Harry, it's Quidditch practice – Harry, wake up!"

"Wha'?" Harry opened his eyes blearily, swearing as Ron opened the curtains to let in the feeble sunlight. To the redhead, there was good reason to be concerned. Harry, with usually tanned, slightly freckly skin, was pale with spots of red on his cheeks. His face glittered with moisture, and his usually sharp emerald eyes were slightly glazed – more so than usual when he woke.

"God Harry, you look bloody awful!" Ron exclaimed, feeling his temperature with the back of his hand. "And you're burning!"

"Thanks," the teen remarked dryly, half falling out of bed in an attempt to get up.

"No, stay there," Ron said, pushing him back down. "I'm getting Hermione."

Harry groaned, but it was too late. He was already gone, dashing down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

He nearly fell asleep again before they returned, but even the meagre light was affecting his head, so he just lay there in pain, listening to their footsteps pounding in his head as they raced up the stairs.

"Oh Harry," Hermione said, laying her desperately cool hand on his forehead.

"'m alright," he muttered, and she chuckled weakly.

"You are most definitely not alright," the brunette replied, grabbing the jug of water and dunking her scarf in it. "I was going to go to Hogsmeade with Ginny," she explained as she wrung it before placing it on Harry's head. "But I think I'll stay instead."

"No, go, enjoy yourself," Harry tried to say, but she wasn't having any of it.

"Ron, go and fetch Professor McGonagle – she'll know what to do."

Ron nodded, leaving his girlfriend behind to tuck Harry back in (making him feel like he was three years old, or invalided), and to try to give him a glass of water.

* * *

It took Ron half an hour to figure out that McGonagle was on duty in Hogsmeade, and he reported back to the pair. Harry tried to insist he felt much better, but when Hermione suggested he get up and prove it, he could get no further than the end of the bed before falling.

"You don't think it's, You Know Who?" Ron asked quietly, shutting the dorm curtains. Hermione snorted.

"Yeah – the Boy Who Lived can't possibly have a simple fever, can he? Has to be poison, or something."

Ron had the decency to blush. Then he was shooed out again to find Professor Snape.

* * *

In the dungeons, Ron knocked nervously on the door of easily the scariest teacher in school, and waited for a reply. It didn't take long – five minutes later, the door opened, to reveal the man himself. Harry's father.

"Um, sorry to disturb you sir," Ron started, before he was interrupted.

"What is it Weasley? If you hadn't noticed, it is a weekend, and I have better things to do than wait on you."

"It's Harry sir – he's sick."

"Is he?" Snape replied, one eyebrow rose. "How fascinating. And this affects me, how?"

"Well," Ron lowered his voice. "You're his father and everything, and we didn't know who to go to-"

"Madam Pomfrey, I'm sure, is fully capable to deal with one minor cold, even if it is being suffered by the Boy Who Lived," Snape sneered, carefully hiding the flash of concern that hit him for a moment.

"But-"

"Yes, Mr Weasley?"

"Um, nothing sir," Ron replied hesitantly. The door slammed in his face, and he was frozen there for a moment, before it hit him. Bastard! They all knew Snape was a complete git to everyone, but to his own son? Riled with anger, he glared at the door for a moment, before setting off for the Hospital Wing.

* * *

"Mr Weasley! Do not run in the Hospital Wing!" Madam Pomfrey berated, and Ron stopped, panting for breath.

"It's Harry, he's sick…"

"Has his head of house been informed?" she said briskly, summoning a bag to her.

"No, McGonagle's in Hogsmeade," he replied, getting his breath back somewhat.

"And where is he?"

"Gryffindor dorms. Hermione's with him."

Pomfrey nodded, striding out. Ron followed her, and they walked up the corridors and staircases that was the fastest and most direct route to Gryffindor Tower.

"What are his symptoms?"

Ron thought quickly, a frown appearing on his features. "Um, fever, headaches, he says everything hurts. He's weak – he couldn't get up. Oh, and the light hurt his eyes."

Madam Pomfrey's footsteps sped up. "And why hasn't the silly boy been to see me before?"

"We tried to tell him," Ron replied, "but he wouldn't listen – he thinks there's nothing wrong with him."

The mediwitch muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like 'delirious'.

The Fat Lady immediately let them in on seeing the nurse, barely hearing Ron call the password to her as they walked in. Pointing out the stairs, Ron followed her up, trying to get the younger students who were curious about the mediwitch's arrival to leave them alone.

Harry looked as bad as ever in the half-light, and closed his eyes tight as she lit her wand tip to get a better view of him.

"Right, out you two – I'll have to examine Mr Potter," the nurse shooed, and reluctantly the pair left to guard the door while she worked. First, she checked Harry's temperature and pulse through Muggle techniques, before resorting to her wand to scan his body for the virus. Frowning, she dug in her bag for a fever-combating potion and helped him to drink it, and then a pain-relieving potion.

"Now Mr Potter," she started sternly, "your friends tell me you've been ill for a few days – are they right?"

Harry nodded, feeling sleepy.

"Why did you not come to me before?"

"Didn't want to disturb you," he mumbled. "Thought it would go away."

Madam Pomfrey tsked.

"Have you been eating properly recently?"

He nodded.

"And any other symptoms?"

He shook his head. The nurse frowned. "I must say, this is quite baffling. I can find no trace of virus or contagion, or even anything foreign in your body at all. You appear to be ill without having a cause." Thinking, she redampened the cloth on his head. "I shall ask the headmaster for help in having you transferred to the Hospital Wing – I think that would be best. You may sleep, and I'll ask your friends to stay here while I talk to Professor Dumbledore."

Harry nodded slightly, before falling back into sleep.

* * *

"Harry? Harry, can you hear me boy?"

Harry groaned, opening his eyes that seemed to be made of lead. Blinking against the onslaught of light, the hazy image of blue eyes and white beard came into focus. Dumbledore.

"He's as awake as you're going to get, headmaster." Pomfrey's voice, he recognised. Glancing around languidly, he spotted an expanse of white on his other side that appeared to be her.

"Harry," Dumbledore again, leaning forwards. "It is imperative that you tell us anything you can about this illness."

"Wha'?" he tried, his throat feeling like someone had viciously attacked him with sandpaper.

"Your illness," he repeated. "When did it begin?"

Harry thought. It required effort. Effort was painful.

"Las'," he slurred, "las' month."

"Last month?" Dumbledore exclaimed, hurting Harry's ears. Weakly, he nodded. "And this has got progressively worse?"

He nodded again, feeling consciousness slip from his grasp.

"Harry, Harry!" he called, and the teen forced his eyes open to focus blearily on icy blue ones. "Remus is coming. We are going to find out what's wrong. Hang in there."

Harry nodded, just once, before fevered sleep took him over.

* * *

"How is he?" the werewolf asked in a low, worried voice, walking up as he saw Dumbledore exit the Hospital Wing.

"Not good," the headmaster replied gravely. "I fear he has been poisoned."

"Poison?" Remus repeated, shocked. "How?"

"I'm not sure," the older man replied, thinking. "He says that this has been going on for over a month. It is possible that this has been engineered to coincide with Halloween tomorrow." He looked up at his ex-Professor. "Go to him Remus, he needs someone he can trust now."

Remus nodded, before entering the Wing, to start his vigil next to Harry's bedside.

* * *

In another part of the castle, Severus Snape was interrupted from his glass of wine by another knock on the door. Cursing, he stood up and opened it to reveal his godson.

"Draco," he greeted, letting him in.

"How's Harry?" the blonde asked without preamble.

"How am I supposed to know?" Severus sneered, hating himself for it.

Draco's eyebrow rose elegantly. "You're his father."

"I had realised," the older man replied, his tone lightly sarcastic.

"Is he sick?"

The question caught him off guard. Spinning round, he caught the teen in a hard stare.

"How did you know?"

Draco stared back evenly. "It's not poison."

Severus stared at him for a long moment, before throwing a handful of powder in the fire.

"Headmaster!" he barked, and was swiftly rewarded.

"Ah, Severus, I've been meaning to talk to you…"

"About Harry?"

The headmaster shot him a look. "Yes, how did you know?"

"Weasley," he replied, "and Draco," he gestured, so that the professor noticed the pale teen.

Albus' eyebrows rose. "How did you know, Mr Malfoy?"

"There's something I haven't told you, headmaster," Snape cut in, drawing attention back to himself.

"He's not been poisoned," Draco piped up, and with a sudden movement, Dumbledore fell into the room.

"I think," he replied mildly, "that an explanation is in order."

"Over the summer, something happened to me, sir. Something else than what you already know," Draco began, cutting over his godfather. "Something very peculiar. Have you ever heard of a race of wizards known as the Phoenix Lords?"

Albus' eyes lit up. "Of course," he breathed. "You mean to say that you…?"

"Yes," Draco replied simply. "And so is Harry."

"Harry, a Phoenix Lord?" Severus interrupted, disbelievingly. Draco turned to him and nodded.

"I can sense him – ever since the beginning of term. He's changing."

"Then the sickness…" Dumbledore mused.

"Yes. It's a sign of who he is to become," Draco said, his eyes seeming to merge into bluey silver.

Albus gazed at Draco in interest. "If you don't mind me asking, Mr Malfoy, which type are you?"

"Water."

"Water? Then you have healing powers? Will you be able to help Harry?"

Draco shook his head slightly reluctantly. He knew what the change was like. "No, even if I tried I couldn't. And if I could, it might affect the process."

"Severus, Mr Malfoy, I think you should go to the Hospital Wing. Inform Madam Pomfrey of this information. I want you both to stay there," the headmaster said firmly, glancing between the pair.

"But headmaster," Severus protested. Albus shook his head.

"Harry needs you," he said quietly. "And you need to realise that you can care for him."

With that, he turned back to the fireplace, and with a surge of purple flame, he disappeared.

* * *

Severus walked reluctantly into the Hospital Wing, Draco following not far behind. As they entered, Remus looked up from where he sat beside the only occupied bed, his whole expression tired. He didn't speak, though he briefly looked like he wanted to, before turning back to look at the boy in the bed.

Approaching slowly, he felt Draco stop to linger by the door, not wanting to intrude just yet. After all, he and Harry were on rather strange terms at the best of times. And he wanted to see his godfather's reaction.

"How is he?" Severus asked in a quiet voice, not wanting to disturb the atmosphere that hung over the room.

"Not good," the other man replied not looking up. "High fever, aches, pains, shivers, convulsions – name it and he's probably done it. The only thing we haven't had yet is vomiting – and if he's been poisoned…"

"He hasn't been poisoned," the professor replied curtly, not wanting to divulge the secret even to a member of the Order, and a trusted friend of both Dumbledore and Harry.

"Then what?" the werewolf was confused. He assumed that Snape was here because of what he had scented the moment he had seen the boy – the dark, trademark scent of the older man that could mean nothing other than kinship. He was confused, but over the years had got used to it – and there were more pressing matters at the moment. No matter who his father, Harry was Harry, and he was ill.

"I-I'm not at liberty to say. How are you?" he asked, and though there was no trace of concern in his tone, Remus thought he saw a flicker of it in those dark eyes.

"As well as can be expected with the full moon tomorrow," Remus answered, rubbing his weary eyes. Severus hovered just beyond the bed for a moment, before Remus noticed his strange behaviour and stood. "I think I'll go and find Professor Dumbledore."

"He's in his office," Draco volunteered, and the werewolf nodded, masking the confusion on his face well, before leaving the three alone.

Slowly, as if he wasn't aware he was doing it, Severus walked up to the bed and sat down in Remus' empty chair. It was uncomfortable, but he'd had worse, so he ignored it and tried to do something he probably should have done a long time ago – re-evaluate Harry Potter.

After a few seconds, he shifted position, and decided to start simply. Reasons I Hate Harry Potter. First and foremost was his obvious link to his father – James. Then he realised the stupidity of that. If Harry truly was his father's son, and Severus hated him, then that didn't bode well for his own psyche. So, scratch that off the list.

His arrogance in class, and everything else. Time to look for an example… his thoughts came upon the Potions lesson so long ago it had become a dusty memory. First lesson for first-year Harry. He had played his usual routine of scaring them witless – bottle fame, brew glory, stopper death – it was a real killer that speech. He was quite proud of it. But that year, he had been interrupted by the brat, scribbling away in his book without paying a blind bit of attention. That was right then – from the first, Potter had been arrogant.

Wait. Another memory flashed a card – of marking the nincompoops homework. Mostly crosses for Harry, making him on par with all the muggleborn students – a sure problem for the Boy Who Lived. As he closed the book, curiosity bit him, and he turned to the front page to see what the boy had written in his lesson.

Bullet points in a childlike scrawl:

_- Bottle fame_

_- Brew glory_

_- Stopper in death_

He had stared at the words for a long moment, before shaking his head and turning to the next book. Now he thought about it, sat at the same boy's bedside, he turned it over in his mind. The boy had been taking notes – which showed eagerness to learn, and though misguidedly copying down the wrong material, he had been organised. Hmmm.

All right, so he wasn't like James, and he wasn't as arrogant. There were other things about Harry that irked him. His heroics, for example. Expression tightening, he remembered the rage he had felt when the idiot had rescued his mutt of a godfather. Taking his worst antagonist from under Severus' very nose, and getting away with it. And just the next year he had brought the Wizarding World to the war that now threatened to split it in two by taking that Portkey.

But that wasn't right either, he finally allowed himself to think. Fourth year it had been a complete surprise to all of them – and if Dumbledore hadn't seen it, then how could a fourteen-year-old boy? Judging by the story he had been told by the headmaster, the boy had handled himself well. Managing to escape alive from the Dark Lord's clutches was quite a feat. Doing it with a dead body, after being battered and bruised with the world turned against you and still only a child – he sighed audibly.

There was the Black thing, true. But here, faced with this evidence, the boy lying painfully ill in front of him, he was starting to wonder if there wasn't something behind that too. His relatives, those muggles – he had heard stories, and none of them were shining. If the rumours were to believed, then Potter would've lunged at the first father-figure he had seen. Either way it seemed likely that the image he had long held of Harry James Potter standing proud, smirking and rising above the world was crumbling – the smile fading to form a thoughtful expression tinged with sadness, the proud and tall boy sinking, shoulders bowed, the arrogance gone from his eyes.

"You are quite an enigma, Mr P-," he paused in his quiet contemplations. "Harry." Glancing over that familiar face known throughout the world, he sat back, steepling his fingers.

* * *

Remus' first instinct was disbelief.

"A, a what?"

"A Phoenix Lord," Dumbledore replied patiently, sitting down behind his desk. The ex-Professor remained standing. "A being of high magical prowess and extensive healing or combat powers, the ability to fly, and considerable mental skill."

"…Harry?"

"Yes," the headmaster sighed. "According to Mr Malfoy, there is nothing we can do until the transformation runs its course."

"Are you sure-?" Remus bit his lip on the question, but Albus already knew what he was asking.

"I think we can trust Mr Malfoy, given the circumstances," he said firmly, but not caustically. The werewolf nodded regretfully.

"Do you mind if I go back? I, I want to be with Harry," he asked quietly. To his surprise, Dumbledore shook his head.

"Actually Remus, I have a task for you. I want you to inform the Weasleys, and stay with them. A happier family I have not yet met, but their concern may drive them to visit, and I don't want any more attention drawn to this than necessary."

"Of course, Albus," Remus replied, disappointed and confused.

"Thank you Remus." With a hand to his shoulder, the headmaster dismissed him, and returned to quiet contemplation beside the darkened window.

* * *

There was an argument in the Hospital Wing. Actually, there were several arguments that were building up to lead to an impression of complete and utter chaos.

Harry was, predictably, still lying ill and unconscious in bed, unaware of the panic and disruption he had unwittingly caused.

Malfoy stood beside his bed, and, to the only person paying attention (surprisingly – Hermione), looked for all the world like he was standing watch over the young teenager. They were on relatively good terms with Malfoy Junior, or at least she and Harry were. Somehow it was right that he should be there, like a silent guardian angel.

The shouting was coming from Ron, and slightly surprisingly, Snape. The Potion's Master was demanding to know why 'Potter's Dream Team' were there, and Ron was replying at length about how they cared for Harry more than him. Madame Pomfrey was trying to calm everybody down and out of her wing, but was only succeeding to add to the noise.

Edging towards the bed, Hermione caught Draco's gaze as he looked up.

"I think we should do something," she said quietly. Malfoy nodded.

"Yes. My godfather tends to overreact at the worst of times," he replied neutrally. "If you take Weasley out, I'll deal with him."

Hermione nodded, and turned to try to drag her boyfriend away. She was stopped by Malfoy's restraining hand resting on her shoulder.

"I'll keep you informed of his progress. Don't worry," he said quietly, and she nodded, half-smiling in thanks. She had no idea where this new Malfoy had come from, but she could definitely get used to it.

With all the experience she had gleaned from the Weasley women, Hermione figuratively rolled up her sleeves and went in, dragging her boyfriend out the other end. Draco moved forward to defend the two as they left, and calmly put up with his godfather's anger until they were both out of the room, and Pomfrey had huffed her way back into her office. Then he turned back to Harry.

"You aren't doing yourself any favours by fighting with his friends." Severus scowled at him. "Oh stop that," Draco replied irritably, his own emotions rising to the surface. "You look like a four year old whose toy broomstick has been confiscated."

"I am your legal guardian," Severus replied coldly. "I should be treated as such."

"You're hardly acting like a responsible adult, let alone a father and godfather," Draco pointed out. "Just wait until you've got your own emotions sorted out before trying to play with others."

His godfather glared at him as he resumed his place beside Harry's bed, and placed one cool hand against the feverish forehead. Draco frowned, then relaxed, closing his eyes.

Severus stood there for another moment, before sweeping out himself. Draco smiled to himself briefly, eyes still shut. And people suspected the Headmaster of manipulating them. Ha.

* * *

A few hours passed, and the steady stream of people coming up to ask them where their famous friend was, was still increasing. An increasingly irate Hermione finally snapped at Dennis Creevy to go away and mind his own business when he approached her in the Great Hall at lunch. It was only when the shocked young student had fled her presence that she flushed with shame and buried her face in her hands. Still smarting over the earlier dispute, Ron simply put his arm around her whilst toying with his mashed potato with his fork in the other hand.

It became public knowledge very quickly that the Wizarding world's Saviour was very ill, and to not approach any of his friends for fear of having their heads bitten off. But it was still hard for the three, forced away from the Hospital Wing and not knowing anything about what was going on.

Bizarrely, at the end of lunch, Snape approached the Gryffindor table, his face almost placid.

"My conduct earlier was most unacceptable," he said stiffly, quietly. "I wish to apologise."

Ron's mouth dropped open. Hermione resisted the urge to reach across and shut it for him.

"Thank you Professor," she replied equally quietly, understanding his need for discretion. "But it's alright, it's a trying day."

The Potions Master nodded curtly and walked off, leaving the rest of the Gryffindor house staring at the two friends, wondering why they hadn't lost house points or received detentions (they clearly hadn't heard a single word). Sighing, Hermione threw down her unused fork. Then, with as much dignity as she could muster, she reached across and closed Ron's mouth.


	8. Pardon Me While I Burst Into Flames

**Chapter 8 - Pardon Me While I Burst Into Flames**

_(title taken from the lyrics to 'Pardon Me' by Incubus)_

He was getting closer, Draco could feel it. The irrational thudding of his fully-human heart as it beat beneath his ribcage. The beads of sweat appearing to slicken his skin, despite the cooling cloth. He had discreetly removed the cooling charms the idiot mediwitch had cast, knowing they would far from help, but hinder the rite.

Now they could just wait. Wait and see.

Severus entered silently, but Draco still looked up to see him do so. The older man's eyebrow rose, and Draco shook his head. Not yet. Crossing the room, the dark-haired Potions Master took a seat beside his son, before reaching out a hand to check his temperature.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the younger Malfoy said quietly. The hand hesitated, before continuing it's journey. Draco rolled his eyes inwardly.

A cry of pain and surprise soon broke the near-silence in the Hospital Wing. Severus, shocked, withdrew his hand, the palm of the pale skin red and angry-looking.

"What the-?"

"He's burning up," Malfoy stated matter-of-factly. "I've never seen it happen before, but trust me, it's alright."

"Alright?" Severus exclaimed, nursing his hand. "He's as hot as fire!"

"Not quite."

"How can you be taking this so calmly?"

"How can you not?" Draco returned. "You were there during my transformation. This isn't much different; he's just going the other way."

There was a long silence.

"Then he's going to…?"

"Yes."

Another silence.

"The headmaster should be informed."

"There's nothing he can do, but by all means, tell him. You should probably not be here when it happens anyway." Draco said, turning his gaze back to Harry's ashen face.

"I'm staying," Severus replied curtly. Malfoy shrugged.

"Just don't go to pieces when it happens."

"'Go to pieces'?" Severus asked distastefully. Malfoy grinned.

"Muggle saying. Would you prefer 'don't lose your wand'?"

Severus shook his head. "I don't think I'll ever get used to you saying muggle sayings. Lucius would never allow them within hearing."

The blonde teen's face flashed stony. "I'm not my father."

"I know," Severus replied seriously. There was an apology in his eyes. When he returned the glance, there was acceptance in Draco's.

Just then, Draco turned back, eyes glinting blue. Before he could shout a warning, there was a sudden sound like the rushing of wind, and they were thrown backwards as Harry Potter burst into flames.

Catching himself in midair, Draco instinctively forced out his wings and cushioned his landing. His shirt was torn to shreds down the back and a few loose feathers that had been pulled out by the activity fluttered to the ground.

Severus had no such defence mechanism, and was thrown bodily against the wall, his head cracking on stone. With a leap assisted by his large wings, Draco was across the room in a heartbeat and placed his hand on the unconscious Professor's forehead. Blue light trickled across his palm and seeped into the skin, magically healing the wound and rousing Severus to consciousness.

Meanwhile, behind them, Harry was having difficulties of his own. Curled up in agony, yet still in essence unconscious, he screamed once, a sound full of raw, hoarse pain. Unnatural flames engulfed his body, and he arched his back, eyes snapping open as he regained consciousness. His usually bright emerald eyes reflected the intense light eerily.

There was a rush of sound, and a tearing noise, the cotton pyjamas made way for blood and feathers, and two wings forced themselves out from Harry's shoulder blades. He screamed once in pain before there was a flash of light that made even Draco cover his eyes, and he fell back to the bed.

Blinking away the after images furiously, Draco leapt to his feet. Severus joined him immediately and they raced towards the bed.

Harry looked a mess. His hair was long and clung to his skin in places where sweat and blood caught it. He was shivering, from heat, cold or pain they could not tell, but thankfully he was unconscious again. When Draco flipped his eyelids open with the delicate movement of one thumb, what stared out at them was not the glazed green they expected, but a deep amber flecked with gold. But before Severus could comment, Madame Pomfrey burst in.

"What on Earth!" she cried, glancing across the chaotic room and her patient. Then, with all the grace of a hippogriff, she fainted.

Malfoy moved quickly, knowing that Harry would be very fragile for a while, and that any way he could help now would drastically affect his healing time. His fingertips edged with silver, he ran his hands along the trails of blood, cleaning up cuts caused by the rapid shift of various parts of his anatomy.

With Severus' help, he turned him over to ease the discomfort of sleeping on his new wings, and carefully healed the raw back wounds that were raised above the pale flesh. Then he laid his palm on the teen's head, and whispered one word.

"_Sleep_."

At once, Harry relaxed, as if the command had been heard and processed by some higher entity. Draco forced himself to stand back before staggering against a chair and falling backwards into a wearied sprawl.

Severus looked to be in a similar position, but probably more due to shock than anything. Seemingly in automatic, he pulled out his wand and set about tidying up – cleaning up feathers and blood and sweat and smashed bottles and potion from the floor. In two minds, he revived Madame Pomfrey, and sent a firecall to the Headmaster's office. Then he followed his godson's example, and dropped into a chair.


End file.
